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Half-Forgotten Romances 
American History 



By 

ELISABETH ELLICOTT POE 



PRIVATELY PRINTED 

WASHINGTON, D. C. 
December, 1912 



PTf 



Copyright, 1922, by Elisabeth Ellicott Poe 



Note. — Reprinted, by permission, from the 
Washington Post 

NATIONAL CAPITAL PRESS, INC., WASHINGTON. D. C. 



Mm'23^,^, 



CiA698219 



i 



To Mrs. Clarence Crittenden Calhoun. 

This little sheaf of tales from the treasure house 
of American History I inscribe to you as the earnest 
of my friendship. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGB 

1. The Lady Pocahontas and Captain John 

Smith 5 

2. Priscilla Mullins and John Alden 18 

3. George Washington and Martha Dandridge 

Custis 28 

4. Edgar Allan Foe and Helen Whitman 37 

5. Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge 44 

6. Robert Edward Lee and Mary Parke Custis. . 52 



CHAPTER 1 
The Lady Pocahontas and Captain John Smith 

IT WAS winter in Virginia, A. D. 1607. Gone were 
the Italian blue skies of the spring and summer wnich 
had charmed the Jamestown settlers when the ships God- 
speed, Susan Constant and the Discovery sailed up the 
Powhatan River, rechristened by the voyagers the 
"James" in honor of the King of England. The dog- 
wood, wild cherry, crab apple, mulberry and persimmon 
trees had lost their blooms, but here and there through 
grim, white woods gleamed the red of the holly tree. 
On giant oaks clustered the white berry of the mistletoe, 
a strange reminder to the Englishmen of the Druid faith 
of their forefathers. 

In the Indian village, Werowocomoco, on the York 
River, lived the mighty Powhatan, chief of the region. 
The village was situated about three miles above the 
present Yorktown, where the lion of England surrendered 
in later years to the lion's cub, America. It was one of 
three capital villages of the Powhatan confederation of 
Indians. The others were Orapakes, on the Chicka- 
hominy River, near Powhatan, and Powhatan, near the 
present site of the city of Richmond. 

Werowocomoco was composed of 25 or 30 wigwams or 
houses built of saplings. These were planted at regular 
distances like posts, then bent over and tied together in 
the middle. The houses were built up by skillful applica- 
tion of barks and grasses adroitly interwoven. Their 
shape was either oblong or circular. Sixty stalwart war- 
riors guarded the sacred person of Powhatan. Powhatan's 
domestic relations are quaintly put: "He had a mul- 
tiplicity of women," It is apparent that Powhatan, in 
common with other royalties, followed King Solomon's 
practical advice and brought upon himself marital trouble 
by adding rather than reducing possibilities in the number 
of wives. Powhatan, however, had one kingly prerogative 
lesser mortals lack in these more progressive days. If 
he tired of a wife, he gave her away to a friend as a token 
of royal favor. Such an improvement on the modern 
divorce court! 

T. R. would have rejoiced in Powhatan's family. 
He had twenty sons and twelve daughters. The light 
of his eyes was the Princess Matoaka, his twelve-year-old 

5 



6 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

daughter, in the vernacular "Pocahontas." This name 
meant "a bright stream between two hills." 

With his long feather quill, a Jamestown author quaintly 
describes the Lady Pocahontas: "A little girl wrapped in 
a robe of doeskin, lined and edged with pigeon down, a 
white heron feather in her black hair, a forest maid truly, 
but royal every inch of her." 

Pocahontas was a merry child, the playmate of her 
numerous brothers, most unusual in Indian households. 
She was fond of boyish sports — a Nimrod unsurpassed. 
Acquainted with every inch of the deep forests, which 
surrounded the capital villages, she roamed carefree 
through them. She passed the months going from one 
capital to another with her father. Powhatan was regal 
in the extreme, and believed in keeping up all the trap- 
pings of royalty, so these migrations of the forest courts 
were pageants to her childish eyes. 

As yet romance had passed her by. vShe was content 
with childish games. She dreamed not of a world beyond 
the seas nor that in years to come she was to write her 
name imperishably on the pages of American history as 
the "Savior of Jamestown." No hint of this high destiny 
came to her as she played with her brothers in the royal 
courtyards of mighty Powhatan's "palaces." Her horizon 
was bordered by the edges of the mighty forests peopled 
by enemy tribesmen and the imps and devils of her crude 
religion. To her primitive mind, all men and women 
were copper hued like the stalwarts of her race. 

Only dimly did she visualize a world that lay beyond 
the great waters. A few months before, a tale had come 
of a strange race of seafarers, storm driven into one of the 
lower islands on the Powhatan River. These wanderers 
had set up strange altars. They were palefaced, "whiter 
than the winter's snow," according to the tales. All the 
Indian world was agog with news of them and filled 
with a vague uneasiness and fear. 

Powhatan had not been idle. His scouts had inves- 
tigated the invasion of his territory. He consulted many 
anxious hours with his medicine men and other advisers. 
Undecided as to what course to pursue, he wag biding his 
time. The gossip of the villages reached the royal wig- 
wams and Pocahontas was fired with the vivid tales of the 
scouts anent the wonders of the white strangers. 

While peacefully playing with her boy chums one day, 
a shout rang through the village. A tribal canoe was 
coming up the river. Its warriors had a captive "pale- 
face." The Indian boys and Pocahontas ran to the 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 7 

water's edge, as eager children will the world over to see 
a curious sight or person. As the canoe was beached, 
Pocahontas looked across the intervening waters into the 
face of Capt. John Smith. She became a woman at the 
sight of this gallant soldier of fortune — yea, doomed to 
love and to love in vain and at last to die broken-hearted 
in a strange land because her love was not returned. 

The pale face at whom she looked was one of the brave, 
pioneer spirits of the island kingdom engaging in extend- 
ing the boundaries of King James I, then on the throne 
of England, and incidentally winning fame, renown and 
riches for themselves — if all went well. Smith had had a 
romantic career; he had adventured in many lands and 
under many captains, fought with the Germans against 
the Turks, was captured by them and held as a slave in 
Constantinople. On his return to England he heard the 
tales of the wondrous virgin country overseas and fol- 
lowed the footsteps of Raleigh and Gilbert. The English 
flag had been planted in America by the intrepid Raleigh 
and other members of the Roanoke colony — that famed 
lost settlement that preceded Jamestown and whose 
brief existence was signalized by the birth of Virginia 
Dare, the first white child bom here. 

Smith stood upright in the canoe with hands bound 
behind him. He was in the thirtieth year of his life, 
attractive enough to interest any woman — Indian or 
otherwise. He wore, besides a dashing cavalier mustache, 
a full beard, his dark hair was long and curly and the high 
cavalier ruff of Elizabethan days and the soldier's waist- 
coat of chained steel and dark but rich courtier dress set 
off his manly beauty to great advantage. His brown eyes 
gleamed with courage and fearlessness and he looked with 
deep interest on the group of savage children and the 
king's bodyguard watching his approach. 

History doth not record it and even romantic imagina- 
tion cannot picture Pocahontas as attracting his attention 
particularly at that time. The natives were all alike to 
him. In the months the Jamestown colony had been 
established Smith had gained some insight into Indian 
nature. His thoughts at this juncture were probably 
those of escape. Women were far from his thoughts. 
His experiences in what is now called the Near East had 
given him preconceived views of "pagans." The forest 
people were simply pawns in the game of empire Smith 
was playing for his king. The human side of the savages 
meant little or nothing to him. 

John Smith was not particularly well educated. Yet his 



8 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

learning was sufficient for the time. He could read and 
write, which feat was more than others of the king's 
gallants could boast. Such religion as he possessed was 
of the soldier type — something to be fought for, but for 
women to actually practice. This was the man to whom 
the simple, child heart of Pocahontas went out as she 
looked on him in captivity that winter's day more than 
300 years ago. Being a woman she pitied him as she 
gazed, and being a king's daughter she knew that death 
might mark the end of his captivity. 

Powhatan's brother and Vassal Chieftain, Opechan- 
canough, had captured Smith, when in order to satisfy 
the complaints of the colonists, still eager for a quick 
passage to the East Indies, he had sailed up the Chicka- 
hominy river, hoping to discover a passage to the south 
seas or the Pacific ocean. He would have been put to 
instant death upon capture but for the fact that he 
entertained the wily savage by his compass. The old 
chief was enthralled by the wonder which pointed always 
to the North Star. 

So he sent Smith to Powhatan under escort, leaving it 
to him to decide his fate. 

It was an event to Powhatan and he received the pale- 
face in regal state. He was seated and 50 armed war- 
riors surrounded him, and back of him stood a group 
of his wives. On the outskirts of the scene were Poca- 
hontas and the other royal children. 

It was one of the great moments of history. The prin- 
cipal figures, Powhatan and Capt. John Smith were well 
matched. Powhatan had a native shrewdness and 
sagacity which offset his lack of general education and 
knowledge of the great world outside his dominion. A 
historian of the period described the great chief by a few 
graphic strokes of his pen. 

"A goodly old man," he wrote, "not ^'■et shrinking, 
although well beaten with many strong and cold winters, 
supposed to be little less than 80 years old, with grey 
hairs, but plain and thin, except for his broad shoulders; 
some few hairs upon his chin and upper lip. He hath 
been a strong and able savage, sinewy and of a daring 
spirit; vigilant and ambitious, subtle to enlarge his 
dominions." 

Powhatan was an absolute monarch. In him seemed 
to have been vested the legislative, judicial and executive 
branches of the government of the kingdom. In common 
with other kings of his own and later times, he managed 
to use a dummy council of wiseacres, consisting of grey 
beards of the tribes, to great advantage. 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 9 

It'was with these figureheads that Powhatan consulted 
after he greeted Smith and invited him to partake of the 
royal feast that had just been served. Powhatan did not 
share the Arab's dislike of plotting against the man who 
broke his bread. While Smith partook of the royal 
feast of turkey and venison, Powhatan planned the ways 
and means of his death. 

Only one person in the assemblage who knew of Smith's 
danger cared as to the outcome. This was Pocahontas, 
who read Smith's death warrant in her father's crafty 
looks and the certain, grim, silent preparations that went 
on while the involuntary visitor's back was turned. 
She knew he was doomed. Her quick, feminine mind 
cast about for a means of saving him. 

The unconscious Smith ate and drank with apparent 
unconcern, but he, too, was not easy in his mind. By this 
time he had learned some of the Indian ways. He felt all 
was not well. But he was powerless. Pie knew a break 
for liberty would be utter folly. His uncertainty did not 
continue long. At a sign from Powhatan two huge stones 
were brought in and placed in the center of the council 
room. Smith's hands, loosened for the meal, were re- 
bound. A warrior, with a huge club, appeared. Smith 
thought his end had come, especially when his captors, 
with savage glee and much barbaric chanting, drew him 
to the stones, and he was forced to put his head upon 
the rude block. Looking up for a moment he saw above 
him the club uplifted, read}^ for the signal from Powhatan. 

Just as it was about to be given there was a flash of 
color. A lithe figure sprang across the council ground, 
threw her arms around Smith and protected him with her 
strong young body from the threatened death blow. 
She was exercising one of the ancient rights of the royal 
princesses of her tribe, saving a prisoner by personal 
appeal. 

Powhatan sprang up aghast. Pocahontas, unafraid, 
threw herself on the ground before him and begged for 
the life of the white man. Powhatan was reluctant to 
give up his prey. He finally yielded to the entreaties of 
his darling daughter and turned Smith over to her as a 
servant. However, Pocahontas did not keep the fascinat- 
ing Smith long in this status. The little princess soon 
sent him back to Jamestown with a guard and her best 
wishes. For many weeks the memory of her goodness 
proved a bond between her people and the whites. Amica- 
ble relations existed between her people and the little 
band of Englishmen sheltered on Jamestown island. 



10 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

She did not forget the visitor from the land of the pale- 
face. Her eyes had seen beyond the horizon of her 
native woods. No more could she content herself with 
the rough games of the camp fires and the innocent 
childish amusements of a few weeks before. It was 
the way of womankind she was traveling now. Though 
it was rough with the thorns of sacrifice and suffering 
yet on its banks blossomed the wild rose and the first 
sweet flowers of the spring. 

Pocahontas soon followed the path through the woods 
to Jamestovra where she was royally received, especially 
as she came bearing shy gifts of needed supplies and food 
for the starving settlers. Without the firm but effective 
hand of Smith on the helm of affairs at Jamestown during 
his fateful trip up the Chickahominy, affairs had gone 
from bad to worse in the little colony. When Smith 
returned he found confusion and turmoil. A number of 
settlers had died of starvation and the rest were danger- 
ously near its brink. 

The first hunger was satisfied by the generous gifts 
of Pocahontas given to Smith on his departure. After 
that she was the colony's good fairy for months. She 
came and went freely among the colonists, a pretty sight 
in her doeskin robes — accompanied by shy brothers — and 
a guard of warriors whose dark, unfriendly faces brought 
shudders even to the watching colonists. Yet the gentle 
Lady Pocahontas was the friend of every man, woman 
and child in the settlement, and all loved this maid of the 
woods. 

Capt. John Smith, her released captive, was her hero 
nevertheless. She saw him leading the colony on to 
success — he was a bom leader — and women ever admire 
achievement. She watched with shy intentness the 
progress of her friend. On his part, according to all the 
near and jealous eyes that spied upon his every move- 
ment, there never seems to have been more than a friendly, 
grateful interest in Powhatan's daughter. She had 
rescued him from death. For this he was profoundly 
thankful and appreciative. 

But the idea of romance between them probably never 
entered his head. She was a savage, he a Christian. In 
his mind between the two yawned a great gulf — over which 
he would not attempt to pass. Besides^ he was intent on 
bringing the colony to success on the one hand and fight- 
ing his active enemies on the other. In addition, two 
other foes stalked outside the palisades, the grim terror, 
famine, and the red peril lurking in the unfathomable 
woods. 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 11 

Yet John Smith was gentleness itself to httle Pocahon- 
tas. He taught her how to be civilized. She sat by him 
hour after hour and watched him govern, drank in his 
tales of adventure and heard his plans for the building 
of his part of the great empire beyond the seas. Naturally 
gifted with a quick and active mind, Pocahontas rapidly 
absorbed the ways of the whites. And, such is the 
woman heart, even at such an early age, with the advanced 
maturity of warm climates, her childish fancy ripened into 
passionate woman love. The distance between their 
lives was as nothing to her. Was she not a princess? 

John Smith, judging from history, pursued the even 
tenor of his ways undisturbed by any woman, even the 
red-skinned princess, who waited by his side for words of 
love. To her he could give all possible kindness and 
friendship, but never a thought of love. He had her 
taught English. On the other hand he gained from her a 
thorough knowledge of the signs and symbols of her 
tribal tongue. 

Pocahontas was true to her English friends, but not so 
her father. Powhatan and his wily tribesmen were deter- 
mined that the struggling little colony should not survive. 
Plot after plot were launched; settlers who wandered far 
in the woods were mysteriously slain and stray arrows 
had a curious fashion of finding themselves in pioneer 
British hearts. 

King James of England, who preached the divine rights 
of kings so valiantly, was consistent in his viewpoint and 
insisted that Powhatan was his royal brother. He sent 
a crown and other gifts to Powhatan in token of his high 
regard and ordered that Powhatan be brought to James- 
town for the ceremonies of coronation. This was easier 
said than done. Doughty Smith found that out when he 
tried to carry out the royal mandate. 

Powhatan was a king, too, and knew his rights. "This 
is my land," he told vSmith, "and I also am a king. If 
your king has sent me presents eight days will I remain 
at Werocomoco to receive them. Your father (meaning 
Captain Newport, the custodian of the royal gifts) must 
come to me, not I to him." 

So, as old King Powhatan would not go to the mountain, 
the mountain had to come to him. Captain Newport there- 
fore came to Werocomoco within the appointed eight days 
bearing the presents from King James. It took a long 
time to persuade Powhatan to put on the scarlet trappings 
of State. Finally he did. When he was ordered to kneel 
down to be crowned the haughty old forest monarch 



12 Half -For gotten Romances of American History 

blankly refused. However, by bearing hard on his head 
while he stooped a little they managed to crown him. A 
salute was fired which so startled Powhatan he quite lost 
his temper and retired, like Achilles, to sulk in his tent. 
Capt. Smith and his followers went back to Jamestown 
worn out by the task of making a king "more a king." 

A short time after, Powhatan again planned the death 
of Capt. John Smith. Pocahontas, "his dearest jewel and 
daughter," once more foiled him. 

It was the winter of 1608. The Jamestown colony was 
starving and Smith took some companions and went 
hunting. He also accepted an invitation from Powhatan, 
well aware of the condition of the colony, to come to 
Werocomoco. There he promised if Smith would build 
him a house, give him a grindstone, fifty swords, some 
firearms, a hen and a rooster and much beads and copper, 
Powhatan would reciprocate with supplies of com. Smith 
gladly accepted. He had a plan of his own to kidnap the 
crafty old chief and hold him for a good ransom and thus 
save the colony. 

Powhatan had also been doing some thinking. He knew 
either his people or the English must go. He was deter- 
mined to exterminate the colony. To his mind, the first 
man to go was the real leader — Capt. John Smith. 

On the 12th of January the party of English reached 
Werocomoco. Several passages, verbal and otherwise, 
took place between Smith and Powhatan, each looking for 
an opening where a real hold could be gotten. 

Powhatan sent over a great feast of venison, turkey and 
com. The half-starved men delightedly started to pre- 
pare it. A group of savages drew near, seemingly friendly 
and engaging in rough sports, apparently amusing the 
whites. Suddenly Pocahontas appeared in the door of 
their cabin. She had come through the dark and cold 
night, unattended, from her father's palace. 

She told the English that Powhatan had provided this 
great feast but had conspired to come suddenly upon them 
preoccupied with the feast and destroy them. Pocahontas 
begged them to leave. Captain Smith, grateful for this 
brave and timely warning, pressed some gifts upon the 
Indian princess, things that must have greatly delighted 
her childish heart. But she said, with tears in her eyes: 

"I dare not to be seen to have any, for if Powhatan 
should know it I am but dead." With a last shy goodbye 
she ran into the woods and disappeared. That was 
Smith's last glimpse of her in the New World. They 
only met once more in England when she had become the 
bride of another. 



Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 13 

The savages came, bearing great platters of food, even as 
Pocahontas had foretold. They begged the Englishmen 
to put out the matches of their guns, as the smoke made 
them very sick, and to sit down and eat their suppers. 
The English refused, and sent for Powhatan. But he 
would not come, and with the coming of high tide, the 
party left for Jamestown. On the way home the 
Pamunkey and the Matapony Indians supplied them 
with 479 bushels of corn and 200 pounds of deer suet. 

Undoubtedly, but for the timely warning of Pocahontas, 
Smith would have been seized and put to death at Wero- 
comoco. 

On his return to Jamestown, Smith finally consented to 
succeed Ratcliffe, who had been deposed by the colonists. 
He only held office a few months, however, as he was 
severely wounded by an explosion of gun powder on one 
of his expeditions. A vessel arriving from England 
opportunely. Smith turned over the reins of government 
to George* Percy, the brother of the Earl of Northumber- 
land, and departed for England. It was an evil day for 
the colony. Hardly had his ship disappeared over the 
horizon when the bickering and internal strife began again. 

Little Pocahontas paid the price of her interference. 
The mighty Powhatan, foiled of his prey, sulked con- 
stantly. Life was unbearable for his wives and children. 
Rumors had reached his ears that Pocahontas had be- 
trayed his conspiracy to Smith. He made her life so 
wretched that she left home in order to escape his incessant 
anger and took refuge with the Potomac Indians, friends 
of hers. In the wigwam of one Japazaws, Pocahontas was 
made welcome by the women of the household. She re- 
mained for several years. The settlers at Jamestown 
missed her visits. No news came of her, and there seems 
to have been a silence of many months between the 
settlers and their little Indian friend. 

Early in 1612, Argall was sent out by Governor Dale 
in search of provisions. Among the Indians he visited 
was the Potomac tribe, and there he found Pocahontas. 
The frightened girl finally admitted her identity and 
Argall conceived the plan of kidnaping her and holding 
her as hostage in order to bring Powhatan to terms. 

Ralph Hamor, secretary to the Jamestown colony, has 
left in his quaint phraseology, a pictui-esque description 
of the kidnaping of Pocahontas. 

Mr. Hamor does not excuse the deception that was 
practised on Pocahontas in order to get her into the hands 
of the English. 



14 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

He says Captain Argall dealt with the crafty Japazaws 
and offered him the bribe of a copper kettle for himself 
and wife, if they would assist in the capture of Pocahontas. 
A copper kettle was evidently the price of the precious 
pair, for they drove the bargain. 

The question was how to get Pocahontas aboard the 
English ship. She shunned it, as if fearing danger. Mrs. 
Japazaws took a hand in the game. She pretended to be 
overcome with a desire to visit the English ship and, 
according to her instructions, Japazaws strictly forbade it. 

That was enough for Pocahontas. Her sympathies were 
immediately with the tyrannized wife and, womanlike, she 
entreated the Indian chief to permit his wife to go aboard, 
promising to go with her. Hamor in speaking of this says 
quaintly, "Japazaws thus wrought it, making his wife an in- 
strument (which hath ever been most powerful in beguiling 
enticements) to effect the plot which he had thus laid. He 
agreed that himself, his wife and Pocahontas would ac- 
company his wife to the waterside. When there his wife 
was to feign tears (as who knows not that woman can 
command tears) whereupon her husband, seeming to 
pity those tears, gave her leave to go aboard so that 
it would please Pocahontas to accompany her." 

Once aboard, a supper was served after which the news 
was broken to Pocahontas that she was a captive. Mean- 
while Mr. and Mrs. Japazaws went their way rejoicing — 
richer by one copper kettle. Pocahontas was reassured 
by Argall, who promised her every protection and liberty 
when her father yielded. He persuaded her that her 
temporary hardship would work permanent peace between 
the Indians and the English. This greatly pleased her, 
but not so the news, so the story goes, that Capt. John 
Smith was dead. 

Poor Pocahontas was overwhelmed with grief. Her 
English was so slight she could not gather the truth, and 
she languished in captivity. Envoys with white flags 
went to Powhatan to tell him the English held his darling 
daughter, "the Nonparella of Virginia," as Hamor pic- 
turesquely calls her. The ultimatum was that if he would 
send home the Englishmen he held in captivity, the tools 
and arms his people had stolen, and a certain supply of 
corn, Pocahontas would be restored to his arms. 

Powhatan was in a quandary. He loved his daughter, 
indeed, almost as much as his life. Yet the English 
weapons were very alluring and very bright to his savage 
eyes. It took Powhatan three months to decide even to 
listen to the proposals; then he tried to temporize and 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 15 

sent back seven Englishmen, three muskets, one broad ax, 
a whip saw and a canoe full of corn. With this was the 
message that when he got his daughter the rest of the 
requisition would follow. 

The English were not to be caught so easily. Back 
went the word to old Powhatan, "Your daughter shall be 
well used, but we cannot believe that the rest of our arms 
were either lost or stolen from you. Therefore until you 
send them we will keep your daughter." 

Powhatan was infuriated. His scouts had told him 
Pocahontas was in no bodily danger, so he did not fear for 
her. He retired to his wigwam and sulked, and sulked, 
and sulked. 

Finally Governor Dale, who wanted the com and his 
men more than he did to annoy Powhatan, took Poca- 
hontas and 150 men, in the vessels of the colony, and went 
on a visit to Powhatan. The Indian chief refused to see 
him. Dale sent word that he wished to send Pocahontas 
to her father's loving arms. In vain they argued; Pow- 
hatan would have none of it. They had to return to 
Jamestown with Lady Pocahontas — and minus the corn. 

Pocahontas remained a nominal prisoner at Jamestown 
for about a year. She was treated with marked considera- 
tion and kindliness by all. She always entertained the 
warmest feeling for the English settlers, and her life of 
imprisonment was by no means one of hardship. Now a 
woman 18 years old, Pocahontas was beautiful and gentle. 

Captain Smith was in England, but there was another 
man, a kindly widower, "an honest gentleman of good 
behavior in the Jamestown Colony who liked the Lady 
Pocahontas." His name was John Rolfe. 

Rolfe displayed great concern as to the conversion of 
Pocahontas and sought to convert her to Christianity. 
While he was in the prosecution of this most worthy pur- 
pose, he conceived the idea of marrying the Indian maiden. 
Soon, from all appearances, he became very much in love 
with her. 

However, some historians have felt that Mr. Rolfe was 
more enamored of marrying a king's daughter, even a 
dusky princess, than he was of getting a new bride. He 
also thought that it might win him preference as to leader- 
ship in America. At any rate, Rolfe wrote a letter to Sir 
Thomas Dale asking his advice about marrying the 
maiden. Sir Thomas, delighted, gave his consent. No- 
body thought of asking poor old Powhatan much about it, 
until Pocahontas sent word by one of her brothers. 

Powhatan was greatly delighted, strange as it may seem. 



16 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

He sent an old uncle and two brothers to Jamestown to 
attend the wedding ceremonies. Rolfe did not like the 
idea of marrying a heathen, so Pocahontas was baptized 
into the Christian communion before the marriage cere- 
mony in a historic scene that has been immortalized in a 
number of notable paintings. In her christening Poca- 
hontas was called Rebecca, and because she was a king's 
daughter she was entitled to be known as the Lady Rebecca. 

After the marriage of Pocahontas and Mr. Rolfe they 
went to live at Rolfe's home, Varina, in one of the new 
settlements along the James River known as Bermuda 
Hundred. Here lived Mr. Whitaker, the pastor of the 
colony, and also Sir Thomas Dale, who preferred country 
life rather than Jamestown. 

At Varina her little son, Thomas Rolfe, was born. In 
1616 Sir Thomas Dale went back to England, taking with 
him Mr. Rolfe, his Indian princess wife and child, and an 
escort of Indians of both sexes. Their arrival caused the 
greatest excitement in England. From the court down, 
everyone was anxious to see the "redskins," and Poca- 
hontas was accorded almost royal honors. Indeed, 
Thomas Rolfe was for a time in grave danger of a repri- 
mand from the throne for his daring in taking a member 
of a royal family — he a mere commoner — to wife. 

Pocahontas in the midst of all the entertaining was not 
happy. Gone were her native woods, and she felt strange 
and alone in the new land. Then, too, she had learned 
that she had been deceived regarding Capt. John Smith — 
he was not dead. 

It seems that Smith was somewhat delayed in seeing 
Pocahontas. But he told Queen Anne the virtues of 
Pocahontas and her services to him and to the English 
colony and for the first time related the story of his rescue 
from death by Pocahontas. 

When Captain Smith at last met Pocahontas the for- 
mality of his conduct greatly distressed her. She said to 
him: 

"You did promise Powhatan what was yours should be 
his and he the like to you. You called him 'father,' 
being in his land a stranger, and for the same reason so 
must I do to you." Smith protested, and explained that 
in England their relations could not be as they had been in 
America, and that he "Durst not allow that title, because 
she was regarded as a king's daughter." 

"Were you not afraid," said Pocahontas, "to come into 
my father's country and cause fear in him and all his 
people but me, and fear you here I should call you father.'* 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 17 

I tell you then that I will, and you shall call me child, and 
so I shall be forever and ever your countryman." Then 
she concluded, with her eyes brimming over with tears, 
"they did tell us always you were dead, and I knew no 
other until I came to Plymouth." 

That was the sad end of the romance and Captain 
Smith left soon for the continent. With his departure, 
the Indian princess turned her face to the sea and died of 
homesickness and mayhaps unrequited affection. Offici- 
ally her death was registered as "galloping consumption." 
She died on the eve of her return to America. Captain 
Smith wrote in his epitaph of her: "It pleased God at 
Gravesend to take this young lady to his mercy, where she 
made not more sorrow for her unexpected death than joy 
to the beholders to hear and see her make so religious and 
godly an end." 

Her child, Thomas Rolfe, was left in England, where he 
was educated. He returned to America afterwards. 
From him are descended some of the leading families of 
Virginia — the Murrays, Flemings, Gays, Whittles, Robert- 
sons, Boilings and Eldridges, as well as that branch of 
Randolphs to which the famous John Randolph, of Roa- 
noke, belonged. 

Mrs. Sigoumey wrote of Pocahontas in these beautiful 
lines: 

The council fires are quenched that erst so red 

Their midnight volume mid the groves entwined. 
King, stately chief, warrior host are dead. 

Nor remnant nor memory left behind. 
But thou, O forest princess, true of heart 
When o'er our fathers waved destruction's dart, 

Shalt in their children's loving hearts be shrined; 
Pure, lovely star o'er oblivion's wave. 
It is not meet thy name should moulder in the grave. 



CHAPTER 2 
Priscilla Mullins and John Alden 

But as he wanned and glowed, in his simple and eloquent 

language, 
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival. 
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning 

with laughter, 
Said, in a tremulous voice, " Why don't you speak for 

yourself, John?" 

— H. W. Longfellow, 

EVERY school child that arrives at the dignity of 
fifth-grade work has heard the romantic story of 
Priscilla and John Alden. Yet only in bare outlines is 
this dramatic episode recited although it remains the most 
notable contribution of the Pilgrim to the collection of 
New World love stories, as it were. 

The word "Pilgrim" has the immediate reaction of 
austerity, cold, unimpassioned life. But this was not 
true. Beneath the drab coat of the Pilgrim burned a 
living fire of fidelity and constancy, of devotion to the 
ideal woman and longing for home life. This longing 
to establish good homes was the primal reason for the 
Pilgrims leaving Holland and braving the dangers over- 
seas. In fact, the very repression of Pilgrim lives, set 
apart as they were, to live to die, made their love epi- 
sodes more intense. Under the gray skies of New Eng- 
land love blossomed in those pioneer days, just as it did 
beneath the smiling blue of fair Virginia, their neighbor 
to the south. 

A striking feature of the Priscilla and John Alden 
story is that it presents the first instance of the triangle 
romance in American history. It was an innocent tri- 
angle, and self-sacrifice and abnegation featured it. But 
the eternal triangle element was there — two men and 
one woman, both of whom loved her dearly, but, woman- 
like, she loved one only, and when in his stupidity the 
lucky man did not recognize her love she took her leap 
year advantage — 1620 — and told him so. 

The perversity which guides a woman in love matters 
was evident in Priscilla Alden's choice. John Alden 
was a stalwart youth, and made her a good husband. 
She saw heaven in his blue eyes, beyond doubt, but for 

18 



Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 19 

most women the valiant soldier of fortune, Capt. Miles 
Standish, would have had more appeal. Standish was 
surrounded with the halo of romance and adventure in a 
dozen countries; he was strangely like that other doughty 
adventurer of America's beginnings, Capt. John Smith — 
a stout heart his, and fitted thereby for the stern tasks 
that awaited these Pilgrim folk, who sought on the bleak 
New England coast the right to accept the dictates of 
their own conscience and "freedom to worship God." 

Perhaps Priscilla felt that to men of such type women 
are more or less "incidents," proving the poet Byron's 
confession that "Love is to man's life a thing apart. 'Tis 
woman's whole existence." 

Perhaps she had the fear that in years to come Miles 
Standish might weary of the tameness of the Plymouth 
hearth fire and harken to the call of wanderlust once 
more. John Alden, on the other hand, was the steady- 
going kind, a student, of judicial temperament, imbued 
with the tenets of the Pilgrim faith, while Miles Standish 
as a soldier of the church militant was perhaps not over- 
troubled with religious theories and intricacies, a "fight- 
ing round head," so to speak, caring more for the battle 
than for the actual issues involved, a battling Puritan, 
like the fighting Quaker Ellicotts of Maryland, who have 
managed, in spite of being Friends, to be in every scrap 
in which Uncle Sam has had a hand. 

The Indians of Cape Cod gave Capt. Miles Standish 
plenty of exercise for his broad sword and his blunder- 
busses, and he found a new thrill of battle in the Massa- 
chusetts woods that quite recompensed him for the loss 
of participation in some of the wars that were raging in 
Europe at the time. 

It may come as a surprise to most people that the Pil- 
grim fathers were not "gray beards," as generally sup- 
posed, but, on the contrary, young men. Only two of 
the whole company were more than 50 years of age and 
only nine were more than 40. Standish was 36 years 
old; John Alden only 21. There again comes in another 
reason why John Alden was chosen by the sprightly 
Priscilla and Standish turned down by proxy. It was 
youth calling to youth with Priscilla and John Alden. To 
her 17-year-old eyes Captain wStandish was an "old man." 

John Alden was of her own generation. May pre- 
ferred to wed with May instead of September, and there's 
no gainsaying a woman's "because," which in one word 
sums up any given action of hers. 

Moreover, John Alden offered Priscilla the flower of a 



20 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

first love; Miles Standish had buried his heart in a woman's 
grave — that of his first wife, lovely Rose Standish, frail of 
body but great of heart, who succumbed with fifteen of the 
twenty-nine women who had sailed from England and 
Holland to the hardships of the first Plymouth winter, 
leaving no child to comfort her sorrowing husband. All 
that remains to present times of Rose Standish is an em- 
broidered lace cap, treasured by a descendant. 

Rose Standish 's death was the first that took place 
after the landing of the Pilgrims. The date was January 
29, 1621, or less than six weeks after reaching Plymouth. 

The romantic figure of Capt. Miles Standish looms 
large in the Pilgrim history. He was a man of parts, 
perhaps the most unique figure of all the Pilgrims. A 
gentleman born, he was one of the Lancashire Standishes, 
the same family that had John Standish, the quick-witted 
Englishman, the first to wound Wat Tyler after he had 
been felled by the lord mayor of London during his attempt 
on the person of the king. For this act of valor John 
Standish had been knighted and been given lands in 
reward. The family estate was Duxbury Hall, a fact 
that caused Capt. Miles Standish to give the name Dux- 
bury to the Massachusetts town he founded and which it 
bears today. 

The family could boast of a long and illustrious line 
of ancestors. In the great controversy between the 
Catholics and the Protestants there was a division in the 
family, part adhering to the ancient faith and part ac- 
cepting the Protestant religion. The Protestants were 
the Standishes of Duxbury Hall. The income from the 
property for that date was very large, some $500,000 a 
year. 

It is said that Miles Standish was the legal heir of all 
this property, and that by gross injustice he was deprived 
of it. Recently a search was made of the records by the 
heirs of Miles Standish and it was found that he was the 
rightful heir of the property, but that the legal evidence 
had been fraudulently destroyed. Miles Standish was 
therefore compelled to seek his own fortune, and from 
various motives, which can be easily divined, he chose 
the profession of arms. 

He was sent by her majesty Elizabeth to serve in the 
Netherlands in aid of the Dutch and Flemish against 
Philip II of Spain. He was quartered at Leyden, Hol- 
land, at the time Pastor John Robinson, with his Pilgrim 
church, settled there. Standish, although a member of 
the Church of England, soon formed warm friendships 



Half -For gotten Romances of American History 21 

among the Pilgrims, and when the Pilgrims emigrated 
he came with them, casting his sword and his fortunes, 
such as they were, in with their lot. 

Captain Standish was, by common consent, put in 
charge of the military defenses of Plymouth. As there 
were only thirty-four adult male colonists, out of which 
Capt. Standish was free to choose, his "great invincible 
army of twelve men " was a tolerably accurate description. 
Standish, with this poor material, being the recognized 
military leader, developed qualities which have deservedly 
placed him high in the temple of fame. 

But he was not only a military leader, for he came to 
have influence as a man of affairs and a counselor in 
civil matters. For many years he was one of the gover- 
nors of the council. In 1626 he was sent by the colonists 
to England as their representative to adjust business 
matters with the merchant adventurers. 

William Bradford, the wise, who was one of the May- 
flower passengers, must have looked into the future and 
realized how in the centuries to come the descendants of 
the voyagers on that tiny vessel would be among the 
world's notables. For descent from those who came in 
the Mayflower has come to have ultra distinction. Some 
wag has written that it would have taken a whole fleet 
to carry back to England those whose descendants now 
claim voyaged over in the Mayflower. Be that as it may, 
there is no mystery about the name and station of the 
Mayflower passengers, for William Bradford wTote them 
in a round hand for all posterity to see upon the ship's 
list, together with descriptive matter concerning each pas- 
senger, which has proven a treasure trove to genealogists. 

Of sturdy John Alden, the 21-year-old suitor for the 
hand of Priscilla MuUins, he wrote: "John Alden was 
hired for a cooper at Southampton, where the ship vic- 
tualed, and, being a hopeful young man, was much desired, 
but left to his owne liking, to go or stay, when he came 
here, but stayd and maryed here." Longfellow has 
pictured John Alden in the new land as the friend, com- 
panion and lodger of Capt. Miles Standish, with whom he 
is said to have been on terms of the closest intimacy. 

Other biographers of John Alden stated that he was 
the first to step ashore at Plymouth Rock. Longfellow 
in his description of Alden says he was fair haired, azure 
eyed, with delicate complexion — typically English, in 
other words — with that rare beauty of coloring that 
made St. Gregory pause in the market place at Rome 
and, viewing the captive Britons exposed for sale there, 



22 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

exclaim, "Not Angles but angels." There is no doubt 
that John Alden was the youngest of the men who came 
in the Mayflower. He seems to have been an educated 
man as weU as a cooper, an uncommon quality in that 
day, so there is a chance that John Alden assumed the 
role of cooper in order to become part of the Pilgrims' 
religious expeditionary forces, which excited much atten- 
tion wherever the Speedwell or the Mayflower touched. 

At any rate, he became in a sense the clerk of the colony 
after his arrival at Plymouth, especially in matters per- 
taining to the military. From the window from which 
Captain Standish gazed as he talked to his young com- 
panion could be seen the early grave of Rose Standish, 
over which a field of wheat was growing, an expedient 
adopted by the settlers so the Indians might not know 
how many of the colony had died. 

It is said that John Alden had already noticed the 
youthful Priscilla Mullins in these early days of the set- 
tlement. The stage is now set with two of the principal 
characters outlined, so it is time for the entrance of 
Priscilla, the Mayflower of Plymouth, as she was fondly 
called by her contemporaries. 

Priscilla Mullins was as fair and fragile as a snow 
drop blooming amid the snows of January. A sentimental 
interest has hovered around her memory because of the 
courtship of Miles Standish, which ended in her marry- 
ing another. This delicate Pilgrim is, too, described 
faithfully by William Bradford in his Mayflower Chronicle. 
"Mr. William Mullines," reads the passenger Hst, "and 
his wife and two children, Joseph and Priscilla, and 
a servant, Robert Carter." Older brothers and sisters of 
Priscilla and Joseph had been left behind in Ley den. 
They came not to the new land, but were cared for by 
friends there, and their record is lost. Priscilla at this 
time was only 16, just on the verge of womanhood. We 
can picture Priscilla not in the conventional uniform 
attire of the pictured Pilgrim, which with its gray gowns 
with dainty white collars and cuffs with stiff caps and 
dark capes is a mere artistic caper, according to the best 
authority. Women of Priscilla 's station in life, and it 
was of the upper middle class, wore the English dress of 
the period. This was often full skirts of silk of varied 
colors; long pointed stomachers, often with bright tone; 
full, sometimes puffed or slashed, sleeves, and lace collars 
or "whisks" resting upon the shoulders. Often the 
gowns were plaited or silk laced; they often opened in 
front, showing petticoats that were quilted or embroid- 



Half-Forgoiicn Romances of American History 23 

ered in brighter colors. Later came the dress restric- 
tions, but not in the early days of the colony. 

Fortune had severe trials in store for Priscilla Mullins. 
During that terrible first winter not only her father, but 
her mother and brother as well, died and she was left 
alone, orphaned and friendless in a strange new world. 
Her plight seems to have aroused the sympathy of the 
entire colony. The women adopted her en masse, and as 
her beauty was as evident as her goodness all the young 
men in the colony would have liked to have done the same 
thing. 

Friends took Priscilla into their home, and there the 
first months of her mourning were passed. Perhaps the 
"dear gossips" of Plj^mouth colony planned for an early 
marriage for Priscilla as the best way out of her difficul- 
ties because there seems to have been a good deal of 
match-making activities in her vicinity. 

Priscilla was trained at the domestic task of spinning, 
and probably was also one of the women "who went 
willingly into ye field and set come." There was work 
for all to keep the little colony fed, shod and clothed from 
the meager facilities at hand. A crude ballad called 
"Our Forefathers' Song" described the general situation 
in Plymouth very aptly. It runs: 

The place where we live is a wilderness wood, 
Where grass is much wanted that's fruitful and good: 
Our mountains and hills and our valleys below 
Are commonly covered with frost and with snow. 

Our clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn, 
They need to be clouted soon after they are worn. 
But clouting our garments they hinder us nothing. 
Clouts double are warmer than single whole clothing. 

If fresh meat be wanted to fill up our dish, 
We have carrots and turnips whenever we wish. 
And if we've a mind for a delicate dish, 
We go to the clam bank and there we catch fish. 

For pottage and puddings and custards and pies. 
Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies! 
We have pumpkin at morning and pumpkin at noon, 
If it was not for pumpkins we should be undoon. 

The first edge of his grief for Rose Standish gone, 
Captain Standish seems to have had his soldier fancy capti- 
vated by the girlish charms of Priscilla Mullins. She, 



24 Half -For gotten Romances of American History 

too, had her griefs, and it is possible that a common bond 
in their mourning drew them together in sympathy. 
She, too, was well born, for her father at his death was 
mentioned with regret as "a man pious and well deserv- 
ing, endowed also with considerable outward estate; and 
had it been the will of God that he had survived, might 
have proved an useful instrument in his place." To his 
friend John Carver he committed his wife and children, 
but before his will had been probated the wife and son 
and the servant as well had joined him in death. 

John Alden also had not been idle in discovering the 
charms of Priscilla Mullins. His stanch heart had been 
wrung by her grief, and often when the day's labors were 
over he would find his way with his friend Capt. Miles 
Standish to the residence of good John Carver and chat 
with the fair young visitor in the household. 

This went on for some time. Finally one day Captain 
Standish confided to the thunderstruck John Alden that 
his desire had fallen upon Priscilla Mullins and that 
he wished to make her his second wife. He pointed out 
that Priscilla was an "orphan and alone and needed care 
and protection. "I am a maker of war and not a maker 
of phrases," said the bluflF old soldier as he pleaded with 
Alden to go and present his cause to Priscilla. 

Alden was reluctant, his heart with love of Priscilla 
overflowing, and feeling that this was more than even a 
friend should ask of another. Unsuspecting, Miles Stand- 
ish urged him, however, and, reluctantly, most reluc- 
tantly, Alden went forth to win for another man what 
he would have given his eyes to have captured for himself. 

The poet has pictured the scene as John Alden ap- 
peared to press the suit of another. Priscilla, as befitting 
to a Pilgrim, was seated beside her spinning wheel, the 
carded wool like a snow drift piled at her knee, her white 
hands feeding the spindle, singing, as she spun, the Hun- 
dredth Psalm. Priscilla greeted John with a smile. After 
some conversation the youth delivered his message. 
Tradition saith that Priscilla was dumfounded. She had 
been expecting a declaration from Alden, but never 
dreamed that it would be on behalf of another. Quickly 
she retorted, "Why does he not come himself?" Alden 
stumbled and said the captain was "busy." This in- 
furiated Priscilla, and she said wrathfully that a woman's 
heart was certainly worth the asking. 

Alden saw his blunder and tried to retrieve it by recit- 
ing Standish 's glories, his good family, his military rec- 
ord, pressing his suit as ardently as if it were in very 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 25 

truth his own. "Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any 
woman in England," he continued, "might be happy and 
proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish." 

Priscilla looked up at him. Then a tender look dawned 
in her eyes, and, gazing at him directly, she queried, 
"Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" The revela- 
tion in her glance he could not mistake. Yet loyalty to 
his friend prevented him from taking advantage of his 
good fortune. Without another word, he turned and 
left her. 

On returning to Miles Standish he recounted the conver- 
sation from beginning to end. The doughty captain, en- 
raged that he had been flouted, took his friend to task and 
accused him of double dealing. The upshot of it all was 
that their long friendship was shattered in a single hour 
because of a woman. Masculine friendship that storms 
of adversity and long separation assail without result 
often flies to pieces when a woman com.es between the 
friends. Poor John Alden did not dare be happy, and 
Priscilla, willful maiden, waited until he should come again, 
and elevated her pretty chin when she came across the 
mighty captain, now sullen when she met him at meeting 
or elsewhere. 

At that moment, fortunately for Standish's wrath, he 
got the opportunity to vent it on the redskins. He or- 
ganized his force of twelve valiant warriors and sallied 
forth to teach the Indian his place in the white man's 
scheme of things. 

Meantime the Mayflower was returning to England. 
Alden, crushed, disappointed, not daring for loyalty to 
his angry friend to push his suit with Priscilla, planned 
to return to the old home, forsaking forever the Plymouth 
colony. He threw together his scanty belongings and went 
to the shore where the Mayflower waited, straining her 
anchors. A crowd had gathered there, and as Alden was 
about to step on the gunwale of the boat which would 
take him out to the waiting vessel he saw amid the solemn 
faces of the Pilgrims the tear-stained countenance of 
Priscilla Mullins. 

Reproach, grief and unutterable longing were in her 
eyes. He gazed long into them across the distance be- 
tween them, then jumped back on shore. "Here I re- 
main," he vowed, raising his hand to heaven. So under 
the providence of God it happened that not one went 
back in the Mayflower and the colony was intact, save for 
the ravages made by death. 

When a woman is as determined as was Priscilla to 



26 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

wed the man of her choice, mere man hath little, indeed, 
to do with it. Thus it happened that before he knew it 
John Alden was safely betrothed to Priscilla and the 
wedding day was set. 

Meantime what of Miles Standish? He had not been 
heard of for weeks, and many feared that he had fallen 
captive to the Indians or been killed with his little army 
by the savages. But not so Miles Standish. He was 
angry when he left Plymouth, but the excitement of the 
battle and his own good sense had reacted, and, soldier 
that he was, his heart had veered away from fickle woman- 
kind, and he was engrossed in the task at hand. Soon 
he returned to Plymouth, bringing with him as trophy 
the head of the brave Wattawamat, which later adorned 
the roof of the fort, a grim warning for many months. 
Priscilla, as she looked on the grewsome object, must have 
thanked God that her choice had fallen on John Alden 
and not the bloodthirsty soldier, Miles Standish. 

Alden, meantime, was making ready the home for his 
bride. Finally, the blest day arrived and the Pilgrims 
were gathered in the meeting house for the wedding 
ceremony. Miles Standish had left town some weeks be- 
fore on another Indian expedition. After the wedding 
sermon, according to the goodly custom of the day, had 
been heard, a form appeared on the threshold of the 
church, clad in armor. Behind him pressed his "in- 
vincible army," now reduced to eight. It was Capt. Miles 
Standish, returned from the wars to find the lady he 
loved the bride of another. 

Dead silence fell over the church. Priscilla glanced 
archly at her erstwhile lover from the shelter of her hus- 
band's strong right arm. With one stride Standish came 
to their side. He put out his hand to the bridegroom and 
said "Let us be friends again." John Alden 's face was 
aglow as he gladly grasped the hand of his old friend. 
Turning to Priscilla, Standish bowed low and said sim- 
ply, "I should have remembered the adage, 'If you would 
be well served, you must serve yourself,' and moreover, 
no man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of 
Christmas." Priscilla laughed and flushed. 

Then the wedding party adjourned to the roadway, 
where awaited Priscilla a unique wedding steed in the 
presence of Alden's snow-white steed, covered with a ga}^ 
crimson cloth and with a cushion placed for a saddle. 
Priscilla mounted her steed and went with John Alden 
through the May-time lanes of old Plymouth to the home 
he had made for her. 



Half- Forgotten Romafices of American History 27 

It was not long, however, before John Alden and his 
reconciled friend went to Duxbury, Mass., and started 
a settlement there. The bruised heart of Miles Standish 
had been healed by the soft fingers of a certain Barbara, 
one of the passengers on the second coming of the May- 
flower. She became the second Mrs. Miles Standish and 
in amity and affection the two families lived side by side 
in Duxbury. Priscilla became the mother of eleven chil- 
dren. Thus this Pilgrim romance, like a story book tale, 
ends aptly with the old phrase "And they lived happily 
ever after." 



CHAPTER 3 
George Washington and Martha Dandridge Custis 

STONE'S throw from old Bruton Church. Williams- 



A 



burg, Va., where sleep the generations of Virginians 
that made history in colonial days, stands an old-fashioned 
mansion of white stone with ivy creeping over its ancient 
walls and with the tints of years thick upon it. The 
stately columns are crumbling now, but in the garden 
cluster roses, honeysuckle and hollyhock just as they did 
nearly two centuries ago when Col. George Washington 
came courting the buxom Martha Dandridge Custis. 
He whispered soft nothings in her willing ear under the 
shade of a giant mulberry that has maintained its fame as 
a trysting tree from that generation to this. 

The lofty spirit of Washington, his unselfish devotion to 
his country and his genius in using power for the good of 
others, never for himself, have placed him among the 
world's great men. From that eminence his character 
has acquired a status of half god or mighty hero that, to 
the average person, makes him more than a mortal. 
In his exaltation, much of the human side of the man has 
been sacrificed to portray this god-like estate. Yet Wash- 
ington was not only the divinely appointed leader of the 
infant colonies, destined to lead them on to victory and 
to greatness. He was, likewise, a fine type of the educated 
Virginia planter of his day and shared many of their 
distinctive characteristics of human virtues and failings 
as well. 

So it comes with more or less surprise that, as a lover, 
Washington was ardent and that Martha Dandridge 
Custis was not his first love. The charms of other Vir- 
ginia belles of the day enslaved his romantic heart again 
and again. In the after years, when his name had become 
world famous, many a gentle old lady in cap and lace ruff 
sighed gently, and mayhap regretfully, over some tender 
missive, packed away for years in lavender, that had been 
penned by the illustrious hand of George Washington. 
Why not? The social life of the Virginia planters and 
aristocrats was an Arcadia of merriment and innocent 
revelry. The Virginians knew how to enjoy life, and with 
Nature's bounty about them on every side in climate, 
fruits, flowers and game Virginia hospitality became 
proverbial and the latch string was always out for the 
unexpected guest. It was an unwritten law of the period 
that no guest ever left one of the rambling, comfortable 
old mansions, with their imported furniture, gleaming 
silver and sturdy and solid calf-bound books, after nightfall. 

Life was a gay succession of house parties, fox hunts, 

28 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 29 

tournaments, fishing parties, while the winter season at 
Williamsburg, the capital city, mid-way between the 
York and James rivers, 7 miles northeast of Jamestown, 
was a round of debates and the official festivities of the 
governor's house and his aids, that would have made a 
current society editor historian mark the Williamsburg 
season as brilliant socially. 

Into this atmosphere the young George Washington fitted 
by birth and breeding. He was the beloved half-brother 
of one of the wealthiest men in the colony, Lawrence 
Washington, of Mt. Vernon, well known by repute to be 
his heir, although in the fifties of the eighteenth century 
still a very young man, yet he had a brilliant military 
record of service under the ill-fated General Braddock in 
the French and Indian wars. 

In addition, the future first President was the close 
friend and intimate of Lord Cecil Fairfax, the lord of 
uncounted acres in upper Virginia. And he was the son 
of Mistress Mary Ball Washington, of Fredericksburg 
and Rappahannock, a lady noted in those days for her 
generous heart, her business ability and the skill with 
which she raised her own son, George Washington, her 
five other children and several step-children. In every 
sense of the word he was an eligible, a "good catch," 
and many match-making mammas and willing damsels 
dreamed of bringing him to the declaration point. 

Throughout his life Washington had a very tender spot 
in his heart for women. At sixteen he writes with all of 
youth's solemnity of a "Hurt of the heart uncurable." 
And from that time forward there is ever some "Faire 
Mayde" in the story of his life. As a matter of fact, 
Washington got along with women much better than he 
did with men; with men he was often diffident and awk- 
ward, ill concealing his uneasiness behind a forced dignity; 
but he knew that women admired him and with them he 
was at ease. 

When he made that first western trip of his carrying a 
message to the French, he turned aside to call on the 
Indian princess, Aliguippa. She was vastly impressed 
by the tall, handsome young Virginian. He records 
quaintly in his journal that he presented her with a blanket 
and a bottle of rum, "which latter was thought the much 
best present of the two." 

The story of his various courtships is written down in 
his expense account which he kept from boyhood with 
painstaking care. Such entries as "Treating the ladys, 
2 shillings;" "Present for Polly, 5 shilHngs;" "My share 



30 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

of the music at the dance, 3 shillings;" "Lost at loo, 5 
shillings," prove that he was the average Virginian in 
these respects of his times. 

One of the most serious romances before he met and fell 
in love at sight with the Widow Custis was with Mary 
Philipse, sister of Mrs. Beverly Robinson, a transplanted 
Virginian as it were, then residing in New York. She 
was older than Washington, a society belle. The attrac- 
tive Washington, with his refreshing country manners, 
his tales of the frontier and military life made him a 
novelty in the Philipse drawing room. 

She showered him with attentions, and his ardent y^mng 
heart soon succumbed with the natural delight that a 
younger man feels in awakening the interest of an older 
woman. But Mary Philipse, while she admired and 
respected him, did not love him, and gently but unmis- 
takably turned him down. Two years afterward Mary 
Philipse married Col, Roger Morris, of the king's army. 
By this time, 1758, Washington had found the one love 
of his life in Martha Custis, and he could read Mrs. 
Morris' wedding cards with equanimity. 

Washington always attributed his defeat at the hands 
of Mary Philipse to being too precipitate and "not 
waiting until ye ladye was in ye mood." The long arm 
of coincidence reached out again in after years, when the 
Washington who was commander in chief of the Conti- 
nental army in 1776 occupied the mansion near New 
York of Colonel Morris, the colonel and his lady being 
fugitive Tories. 

Before actually reciting the romance of Washington 
and Martha Custis, it is well to give a little of this first 
first lady of the land's history. 

The colonial settlers of Virginia brought their prayer- 
book and their preachers with them. Among the flock 
of spiritual advisers was good Master Rev. Orlando Jones, 
a Welsh clergyman, whose descendants lived at Williams- 
burg, Va. There in May, 1732, in a plantation, was 
born Martha Dandridge, she who afterwards became the 
bride of George Washington. While surrounded by the 
simple luxuries of the time, it is doubtful that Martha 
Dandridge ever received more than the smattering and 
fashionable education of young ladies of that period, 
which was composed largely of social accomplishments, 
dancing, embroidery and the graceful and gentle arts of 
gentlewomen. 

The blue stocking was as yet unknown and Martha 
Dandridge Custis Washington misspelled like a lady and 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 31 

was never troubled at heart because she did so. Her 
instruction was given her at the hands of a governess, 
because girls never went to school in that era. Such 
general knowledge as she possessed of the world was 
gleaned from the few books she had read, and the society 
of her father's friends. 

But her education in home-making was most thorough 
and complete. This home-making ability was later dis- 
played in the excellence of the household management at 
Mount Vernon. In every sense of the word she was a 
home maker and could not only direct culinary pursuits 
but could concoct tasteful dishes that won her the crown 
of womanhood, the glory of being a good cook. Martha 
Dandridge was a belle of Williamsburg. She took part 
in the social happenings that centered around the governor's 
house there. 

A description of this period shows her as "being rather 
below the middle size, but extremely well shaped, with an 
agreeable countenance, dark hazel eyes and hair, and 
those frank, engaging manners so captivating in American 
women. She was not a beauty, but gentle and winning 
in her nature, and eminently congenial to Washington. 
During their long and happy married life he ever wore her 
likeness on his heart." 

When about 18, young Daniel Parke Custis, only son 
and heir of Col. John Custis, one of the king's councilors 
for Virginia, fell madly in love with her. Colonel Custis 
had other plans, however, for his talented son and desired 
an alliance with the beautiful and accompHshed Evelyn, 
daughter of Col. William Byrd, of Westover. Colonel 
Custis was disappointed when young Daniel selected 
Martha Dandridge instead and even threatened disin- 
heritance if his son persisted in making his own choice. 
But word kept coming to him of the grace and sweetness 
of Martha Dandridge and from every lip fell praises of 
her good sense and amiabihty. So finally the doughty 
old colonel surrendered and wrote on a piece of fair white 
paper, "I give my free consent to the union of my son 
with Miss Martha Dandridge." 

The happy couple were soon afterward married, and 
the father of the bridegroom never ceased to rejoice in 
the good fortune of his son in marrying such a charming 
girl. They took up their abode at the White House on 
the bank of the Pamunkey river, in New Kent county, 
and were blessed with four children. In the summer of 
1757, the husband died, leaving Martha at the age of 25, 
one of the wealthiest widows in Virginia, and with beauty 
unimpaired. 



32 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

Besides the loss of her husband Martha Custis suffered 
a severe blow in the death of her eldest son, unusually 
endowed with mental gifts, and giving promise of a bright 
future. 

The young widow administered her large estates in a 
capable manner. The trust her husband reposed in her 
was amply justified and her estates were among the best 
managed in the country. They seemed to occupy her 
entire attention, together with the care of her interesting 
children, and a second marriage, according to all ac- 
counts, was far from her thoughts. After a time she 
began to mingle again in Williamsburg society and, while 
greatly sought after, her heart appeared to be buried in 
Daniel Parke Custis' grave. 

But she reckoned without George Washington and his 
persuasive powers. 

It was a pleasant day in May, 1758, that a cavalcade 
consisting of a fine looking young military officer, dressed 
in the British scarlet accompanied by a dignified black 
body servant, also on horseback, crossed Williams ferry 
on the Pamunkey, not far from its junction with the York 
River. A Mr. Chamberlayne, a planter of the neighbor- 
hood, came up and greeted Col. George Washington, the 
officer, and invited him to stop at his plantation to rest 
and for dinner. 

Colonel Washington declined and stated that he was 
hastening to W^illiamsburg to lay before the governor and 
council of Virginia matters relating to the march of the 
British and colonials against Fort Duquesne. Cham- 
berlayne pressed his invitation, but Washington still 
declined. Finally the would-be host mentioned the fact 
that he had as guest in his family a charming Williams- 
burg widow, Mrs. Daniel Parke Custis, and that a few 
hours' conversation with her would recompense the officer 
for the necessity of riding later at night on account of the 
stopover. 

Washington, ever alive to the charms of a pretty 
woman, yielded at last to Chamberlayne 's entreaties. 

Bishop, the body servant, was instructed to hold the 
horses ready for instant departure when the colonel had 
dined and completed his exchange of compliments. 
Bishop waited and waited and waited while the length- 
ening shadows enveloped the countryside, and still his 
master did not return. 

Within the mansion the officer, now cavalier, was captive 
at the feet of Martha Custis. It was a case of love at 
first sight, and from that time no other woman ever had 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 33 

the power to charm George Washington. A historic 
painting shows the patient Bishop waiting at the horse- 
block for his enslaved master. The sun sank below the 
horizon, and yet the colonel appeared not. The tired and 
hungry old servant wondered at his master's delay. It 
was not like him, for he was the most punctual of all men 
and was never a moment behind his appointments. 

Mr. Chamberlayne finally noticed the patient waiter 
and, prevailing upon the officer to remain overnight, Bishop 
was sent orders to put up the horses. 

The sun rode high in the heavens the ensuing day when 
the enamored soldier pressed with his spur his charger's 
sides and sped on his way to the seat of government. 
After dispatching his public business he retraced his 
steps and sought out the charming Widow Custis again. 

There remains evidence that his courtship was im- 
mediately successful, for in Washington's cash account 
for May, 1758, there is an item, "One engagement ring, 
2 pounds 16 shillings." Many a happy lover of the 
present day would be glad to escape so easily in his solitaire 
buying, but those were more simple days and the high 
cost of diamonds was not regarded as an essential part of 
wedded bliss as it is today. 

As Daniel Parke Custis had been dead less than a year 
there was no immediate announcement of the engagement. 
But some eight months later the marriage was solemnized 
at the "White House," New Kent County. Strangely 
enough, Mrs. Washington, although the first "First Lady of 
the Land," never lived in the White House in the Capital 
City, but it was a coincidence that her home in Virginia 
was called the White House. 

We find Mrs. Washington explaining to a friend that 
the reason for the somewhat hasty vmion was that her 
estate was getting into a bad way, and a man was needed 
to look after it. Her two children, John Parke and 
Martha Parke Custis, attended the ceremony. Martha 
Custis had every reason to be congratulated on her choice 
of a man. She owned 15,000 acres of land, many lots in 
the city of Williamsburg, 200 negroes and some money 
on bond; all the property being worth over $100,000 — a 
very large amount for those days. 

The marriage ceremony was performed January 17, 
old style. The Rev. David Mossom, rector of the neigh- 
boring parish church of St. Peter's, was the officiating 
clergyman, and the planters, members of the Virginia 
assembly, and the belles and beaux attended the festivities 
incident thereto. We are told that the governor came 



34 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

from Williamsburg in his coach and six, and many of the 
state officials were also present at the marriage. After 
the marriage the bride and her lady friends were borne to 
her home, the White House, in a carriage drawn by six 
horses, on which sat negro drivers dressed in uniform. 
The bridegroom, accompanied by other gentlemen on 
horseback, rode beside the coach on his fine charger. 

At the close of the sessions of the House of Burgesses, 
to which he was a delegate from the district of Mount 
Vernon, he returned to that Potomac River home which 
he had inherited from his brother, Lawrence Washington, 
taking with him his bride and her two surviving children, 
John Parke and Martha Parke Custis. Then com- 
menced that sweet domestic life at Mount Vernon, which 
always possessed a powerful charm for its illustrious 
owner. Writing to a kinsman in London, he indited these 
appreciative words of his new condition: "I am now, I 
believe, fixed in this seat with an agreeable partner for 
life, and I hope to find more happiness in retirement than 
I ever experienced in the wide and bustling world." 

This ardent hope was fulfilled. For the woman he 
had chosen stayed by his side at Valley Forge during the 
dark days of the revolution and the glory of the Presidency 
and victory alike. Their married life was idyUic, and no 
shadow of disagreement or misunderstanding ever crossed 
their path or cast a shadow on the peaceful hills of Mount. 
Vernon. 

The only real shadow came in the untimely death of 
Washington's idolized stepdaughter, Martha Custis, a girl 
of rare beauty, who died in her sixteenth year — of consump- 
tion. Washington had loved her as his own child — fated 
as he was to be childless, so, as some one has appropriately 
said, "that he might be the Father of His Country. 

This shadow passed into quiet resignation and in another 
year or so Mount Vernon resumed its old social Hfe. Mrs. 
Washington shared with the general the love of society of 
friends; always dressed with a scrupulous regard for the 
requirements of her station and the fashions of the day 
and presided as mistress of Mount Vernon with great 
dignity and urbanity. The mansion was seldom without 
guests, who came to join Washington in the sports of the 
chase. In the years preceding the Revolution Mrs. 
Washington was much abroad with her husband and was 
frequently seen with him at the theaters and dancing 
assemblies at Annapolis, Williamsburg and Alexandria. 
She had at her disposal a chariot and four horses, with 
black postilions in livery for the use of herself and lady 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 35 

visitors, and her equipage was frequently seen upon the 
road between Mount Vernon and Alexandria and adjacent 
estates. 

With the Revolution came a change in the social 
conditions. Not only was Washington at the forefront 
of the American forces, but Mrs. Washington had her 
hands full during the seven years it lasted, widowed for 
these years except for the winters when she visited the 
camps of Washington and was an honored guest at the 
headquarters of the army. "Lady Washington, God 
bless her," was the toast at every convivial assemblage of 
the soldiers of every rank. 

At length the desired end was in sight and the American 
troops, assisted by their gallant French allies, marched on 
Yorktown. With Gen. Washington went John Parke 
Custis, leaving his young wife, a scion of the noble family 
of Lord Baltimore, and their infant children under the 
sheltering roof of Mount Vernon. 

Gathered around the great fireplace in the living room, 
Martha Washington and her daughter-in-law awaited 
news from the battle. When it came, borne by a panting 
courier, it was victory. But he also bore word of the 
severe illness of John Parke Custis, the beloved son and 
husband of the women. Mrs. Custis hastened to her 
husband's bedside, only to see him draw his last breath, 
and to meet at the same sacred post Gen. Washington, 
who had forsaken the feasts of victory to ride 30 miles 
to see poor John Parke Custis breathe his last. 

On the sad return to Mount Vernon, Washington 
comforted his sorrowing wife with the promise that he 
would adopt the two younger children of John Parke 
Custis as his own. He remained true to this promise, 
and one of the children, Nelly Parke Custis, was his 
special pet. 

After the peace of 1783 Mount Vernon became a 
point of great attraction, and many notables from all 
parts of the world went there. Hospitality was necessary 
on a liberal scale. Mrs. Washington preserved her sweet 
serenity. When her husband became the chief magis- 
trate of the nation her simple habits remained unchanged, 
and her larger household was arranged upon the frugal 
model of her home at Mount Vernon. Both Mrs. Washing- 
ton and he gave splendid examples of republican simplicity, 
and declined anything approaching royal honors. Her 
weekly receptions or soirees were dignified, yet with full 
consideration of the rank that imposed obligation. 

But public life had few charms for Mrs. Washington. 



36 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

She returned gladly with Washington to Mount Vernon 
after his terms of office were over, and always referred to 
the time when she was in public life as her "lost days." 

The last years of Washington's life were passed quietly 
at Mount Vernon with his chosen companion. She was 
now nearly 70 years old, but the charm of the Williams- 
burg maid had never been lost. The shock of Wash- 
ington's death came as a great blow to her. Her words 
at his death were prophetic: '"Tis well," she said. "All 
is now over. I shall soon follow him. I have no more 
trials to pass through." 

In the Mount Vernon of today one is shown the attic 
bedroom facing the old tomb on the banks of the river 
and visible from the window into which Mrs. Washington 
moved after the death of the great American so she might 
at all times view his grave. 

Her spirit seemed broken, and despite the endeavors of 
friends and relatives her grief could not be assuaged. 
The close companionship and affection of forty years 
was too precious to be forgotten or unregretted. Her 
only thoughts were with him in the tomb where he lay, 
and she prayed for the moment to come when she might 
join him again. 

In a little more than two years this prayer was granted. 
She died of a lingering fever, her eyes fixed on the window 
of the little bedroom which looked down on the grave of 
the man she had so loved. 

And the world as it pauses in reverent tribute beside 
the tomb of George and Martha Washington in historic 
Mount Vernon remembers the romance of this true love 
of the first American and his devoted, noble wife. 



CHAPTER 4 

Edgar Allan Poe and Helen Whitman 

N the longer of his poems, entitled "To Helen," Edgar 
. Allan Poe wrote: 

' I saw thee once — once only — years ago ; 
I must not say how many — but not many. 
It was a July midnight; and from out 
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring. 
Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, 
There fell a silvery-silken veil of light. 
With quietude, and sultriness and slumber, 
Upon the upturned faces of a thousand 
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, 
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tip-toe. 



' ' Clad all in white, upon a violet bank, 
I saw thee half reclining; while the moon 
Fell on the upturned faces of the roses. 
And on thine own, upturned — alas, in sorrow! 

"Was it not Fate that on this July midnight — 
Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow) 
That bade me pause before that garden-gate. 
To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses?" 

And the object of these inspired words was the woman, 
the "one woman" of his tempestuous life, whom he called 
"Helen, my Helen — the Helen of a thousand dreams." 

The love story of Edgar Allan Poe and Helen Whitman, 
the New England poetess, years his senior, has seldom 
been equaled in the history of literature. All the pent-up 
romance of his poet nature was bestowed on this idyl of 
his dreams, and she, swept off her feet by the ardor of 
his attentions, by the wild frenzy of his wooing, never 
forgot him, and worshiped his memory to the end of her 
life. It stands forth, a classic in the world of romance. 
Mrs. Whitman, too, was a poet of no mean skill and, 
strangely enough, she is best remembered by the lines 
she wrote on a portrait of Poe which hung ever on her 
wall, hidden by a silken curtain from the sight of profane 
eyes. 

The poem follows: 

37 



38 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

"After long years I raised the folds concealing 
That face, magnetic as the morning's beam; 
While slumbering memory thrilled at its revealing 
Like Memnon wakening from his marble dream. 

"Again I saw the brow's translucent pallor, 
The dark hair floating o'er it like a plume, 
The sweet, imperious mouth, whose haughty valor 
Defied all portents of impending doom." 

It was no marvel that they should meet, and the lives of 
Poe and Mrs. Whitman found their climax in that meet- 
ing. Yet the poet Poe, ever a hunter for the mystic and 
the improbable, conceived a notion that there was a pre- 
ordained connection between their fates. 

"I yielded once," he writes, "to an overwhelming sense 
of fatality. From that hour I have never driven from my 
soul the belief that my destiny, for good or for evil, either 
here or hereafter, is in some measure interwoven with 
your own." 

Hope was reborn in the starved heart of Poe, writhing 
with the despair and grief that had followed the death the 
year before of his child wife, Virginia Clemm, to whom 
he was passionately devoted, but more with a brother's 
love than that which should exist between man and wife. 
The sweet but colorless child, Virginia Clemm, could not 
awaken in this poet heart the real ardor of love. She 
could only point the way to Helen Whitman, the one love 
of his life. 

But in Helen Whitman was the fulfillment of all his 
dreams. She was the queen of his exquisite fancies 
about women, those delicate, rare visions of beautiful 
women, fairy creatures, that remain in lofty solitude on 
the peaks of literature, unsurpassed by any poet before or 
since. So he wrote her burning words, immortal love 
letters filled with the fancy of their divine kinship of soul ; 
letters that breathe all the passion of the "Sonnets From 
the Portuguese;" letters that have rarely been equaled in 
the annals of love. 

The pathetic life story of Poe is so well known it needs 
little repetition here. Less, at this distant date, is known 
of Mrs. Whitman, who was one of America's most gifted 
women poets in the middle of the nineteenth century. 
She was a native of Providence, R. I., where she was born 
on January 19 (Poe's birthday), in 1803; therefore six 
years his senior. Her family was one of comfortable cir- 
cumstances, and she was rarely gifted as a poet herself, 



Half -For got ten Romances of American History 39 

accomplished in many literatures, imbued with the cul- 
ture of France and Germany. 

She married a Boston lawyer, John W. Whitman, in 
1828, and was left a widow, with considerable means, in 
1833, Her home in Providence was the scene of gather- 
ings of the literati and almost assumed the proportions 
of a salon. Admirers in plenty besought her, but she pre- 
ferred the freedom of her literary career to a remarriage. 

Tradition says that she had long been an admirer of 
Poe's poetry and had followed his career with special 
interest largely because their inner natures were atune for 
the same racial characteristics, Celtic Norman lineage, 
warm romance blood, predestined to literary creation and 
sorrow, distinguished both. Indeed, in their veins ran 
the same kindred blood, for they both traced their descent 
from the ancient Celtic Norman stock, the Le Poers of 
Ireland, of which both Mrs. Whitman's maiden name. 
Power, and Poe were derivations. 

Poe, on the other hand, was familiar with Mrs. Whit- 
m.an's poems. In fact, their delicacy, spontaneity, appre- 
ciation of nature and mastery over rhythm, poems of rare 
sweetness and refinement, had caught his eye and soul 
and drew from him enthusiastic praise in a lecture on 
"The Female Poets of America," in which Poe's critical 
sense of justice did not falter in pointing out such defects 
as he discerned in the works of his fair compeers. 

Yet they had not met. But Poe had seen her, for on 
a hurried visit to Boston to deliver a lecture at the Lyceum 
there he passed through Providence and caught a glimpse 
of a white figure wandering through a moonlit garden 
that the natives told him was that of Mrs. Whitman, 
the poetess. He had restlessly tossed in his hot hotel 
room, and near midnight arose and went for a moon- 
light stroll, when he saw the white apparition. His poetic 
fancy took fire, and the emotions aroused by the incident 
finally, years afterward, culminated in the beautiful poem 
"To Helen" with which this story begins. 

Poe could not forget her, according to his own testi- 
mony; for he wrote to her after their formal acquaint- 
anceship, retracing, as lovers are prone to do, the steps of 
their relationship, and claiming to have cherished her 
very name for years before they met. 

In this letter he says: 

"I have already told you that some few casual words 

spoken of you by were the first in which I had 

ever heard your name mentioned. She alluded to what 
she called 'your eccentricities' and hinted at your sorrows. 



40 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

Her description of the former strangely arrested — ^her 
allusion to the latter enchained and riveted my attention. 

"She had referred to thoughts, sentiments, traits, 
moods which I knew to be my own, but which, until that 
moment, I had believed to be my own solely — unshared 
by any human being. A profound sympathy took imme- 
diate possession of my soul. I can not better explain to 
you what I felt than by saying that your unknown heart 
seemed to pass into my bosom — there to dwell forever — 
while mine, I thought, was translated into your own, 

"From that hour I loved you. Since that period I have 
never seen nor heard your name without a shiver, half of 
delight, half of anxiety. The impression left upon my 
mind was that you were still a wife, and it is only within 
the last few months that I have been undeceived in this 
respect. 

"For this reason I shunned your presence and even the 
city in which you lived. I dared not speak of you — much 
less see you. For years your name never passed my lips, 
while my soul drank in, with a delirious thirst, all that 
was uttered in my presence respecting you. 

"The merest whisper that concerned you awoke in me 
a shuddering sixth sense, vaguely compounded of fear, 
ecstatic happiness and a wild, inexplicable sentiment that 
resembled nothing so nearly as a consciousness of guilt." 

Meantime, Mrs. Whitman does not seem to have been 
entirely immune from similar feelings. With the keenest 
interest she followed his career, touched to the depths of 
her womanly heart by the recital of his woes and his 
tragic life. Her admiration awoke to renewed heights at 
his publication of "The Raven," which swept the literary 
world with appreciation into acclaiming him the new poet 
of the time. 

Mrs. Whitman was so carried away with the weird poem 
that she addressed an anonymous valentine to its writer. 
Naturally, she did not wish Poe to know that she was its 
author. But to his critical mind there was no mistaking 
style. He knew at once Mrs. Whitman was its author. 
Speaking of the occurrence to her afterward, he said: 
"Judge, then, with what wondering, unbelieving joy I re- 
ceived, in your well-known ms., the valentine which first 
gave me to see that you knew me to exist. 

"The idea of what men call Fate lost then in my eyes 
its character of futility. I felt that nothing hereafter 
was to be doubted, and lost myself for many weeks in one 
continuous, delicious dream, where all was a vivid, yet 
indistinct, bliss. Immediately after reading the valentine 



Half-Forgotten RottKinces of American History 41 

I wished to contrive some mode of acknowledging — with- 
out wounding you by seeming directly to acknowledge — 
my sense — oh, my keen — my exulting — my ecstatic sense 
of the honor you had conferred on me. To accomplish 
as I wished it, precisely what I wished, seemed impossible, 
however." 

Finally the poet hit upon the plan of sending some of 
his own poems to Mrs. Whitman. To his great sorrow, no 
answer came, no single line of acknowledgment. Then 
he sent anonymously in mss. his lines "To Helen," the 
longer poem by that name. Still no answer. Writing 
her of the incident afterward, he divulged his purpose in 
the last venture. "There was yet another idea which im- 
pelled me to send you those lines; I said to myself the 
sentiment — the holy passion which glows in my bosom 
for her is of Heaven, heavenly, and has no taint of the 
earth. Thus, then, must lie in the recesses of her own 
pure bosom, at least, a germ of a reciprocal love; and 
if this be indeed so, she will need no earthly clew — she 
will instinctively feel who is her correspondent. In this 
case I may hope for some faint token, at least." 

But the token did not come. The lady was obdurate. 
Her silence drove his passion to fever heat. The unat- 
tainable — ah, there was the keynote of his life story 
again. It was the very method that could best capture 
his wandering fancy. In despair, on the 10th of June, he 
wrote to a literary friend as follows: 

"Do you know Mrs. Whitman? I feel deep interest in 
her poetry and character. I have never seen her — never 

but once. , however, told me many things about 

the romance of her character which singularly interested 
me and excited my curiosity. Her poetry is, beyond ques- 
tion, poetry — instinct with genius. Can you not tell me 
something about her — anything — everything you know — 
and keep my secret — that is to say, let no one know that 
I have asked you to do so? May I trust you? I can and 
will. Edgar A. Poe." 

But love will have its way, and in the summer of 1858, 
armed with a letter of introduction from Marie Mcintosh, 
the authoress, Poe called on Mrs. Whitman at her mother's 
home in Providence. The poetess consented to see him. 
Poe afterward wrote of the impression made on him by this 
first real sight of his love. "As you entered the room, 
pale, hesitating and evidently oppressed at heart; as your 
eyes rested for one brief moment upon mine, I felt, for 
the first time in my life, and tremblingly acknowledged, 
the existence of spiritual influences altogether out of the 



42 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

reach of the reason, I saw that you were Helen — my 
Helen — the Helen of a thousand dreams. She whom the 
great Giver of all good had preordained to be mine — mine 
only — if not now, alas! then hereafter and forever in the 
heavens. You spoke falteringly and seemed scarcely 
conscious of what you said. I heard no words — only the 
soft voice more familiar to me than my own. Your hand 
rested within mine and my whole soul shook with a 
tremulous ecstasy; and then, but for the fear of grieving 
or wounding you, I would have fallen at your feet in as 
pure — in as real a worship as was ever offered to idol or to 
God." 

It is small wonder that many days did not elapse before 
these poetic natures were engaged. All seemed to be 
well, and Poe was enraptured. Happiness was in his 
clasp, at last, but alas, nearby was his tutelary spirit of 
evil with its melancholy plaint of "Never, never more." 

Friends busied themselves acquainting Mrs. Whitman 
with the vagabond life and nature of her poet. Serious 
old Horace Greeley wrote in his incomparable, illegible 
hand writing to a friend, asking "if Mrs. Whitman had 
no friend within your knowledge who can faithfully ex- 
plain Poe to her." Naturally, with such pressure on all 
sides, the path of their love was not smooth, Mrs. 
Whitman finally named the day, dependent upon Poe's 
keeping certain pledges of absolute sobriety she had ex- 
tracted from him. 

The unhappy man, his moral fiber relaxed by disease, 
the victim of hereditary predispositions, destitute of will 
and of self-control since the terrible years that preceded 
Virginia's death, broken in constitution and health from 
the awful vigil by her bedside, yielded to some unknown 
but irresistible pressure of evil, and broke his pledges. 

Mrs. Whitman reluctantly yielded to the importunities 
of her friends, letters of renunciation passed between the 
two poets, and they never saw each other again. There 
was no scene, as some of Poe's defamers have declared; 
the relationship merely ceased, and they met no more. 

This was early in 1849. Though they knew it not, Poe 
had only a few more months of life. After his death Mrs. 
Whitman was his constant and stanch defender, and she 
wrote a thin volume called "Edgar Allan Poe and His 
Critics," which speaks of him in the highest praise and 
contradicted many wild rumors about his sad life. 

This tragedy of the heart colored all the rest of Sarah 
Helen Whitman's life. It could not affect her apprecia- 
tion of Poe's brilliant powers, but it cast a soft, half-veil- 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 43 

ing shadow over her. She seemed different and apart 
from other women. 

She lived to be 75 years of age, cherishing the memory 
of her lost poet to the last. She is represented as lying 
beautiful as a bride in death, her brown hair scarcely 
touched with gray. The poems she had written about Poe, 
beautifully bound in a little volume, were in her hand. A 
verse from one of them, "The Island of Dreams," seems 
appropriate with which to end this poets' romance: 

"Where the clouds that now veil from us 
heaven's fair light. 
Their soft, silver lining turn forth on the night; 
When time shall the vapors of falsehood dispel, 
He shall know if I loved him, but never how well." 



CHAPTER 5 
Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge 

THERE is a rude log cabin in Larue, formerly Hardin 
County, in Kentucky, where, on February 12, 1809, 
amid abject poverty and with none of the trappings that 
greet the entry of princes of the world, was born a child 
whose spirit has wrought more lasting good than most 
men whom the world is content to call "great." This 
child was Abraham Lincoln — "Abe," he was affectionately 
called from boyhood to the dark hour of his assassination. 
And no better proof of the humanity of the man, of his 
universal appeal to all sorts and conditions of men, can 
be given than in the fact that he was generally so acclaimed. 

The year 1809, an unusual one in American history, 
an "annus mirabilis," to quote our old friends the Latins. 
There are years that stand out in every century, set 
apart from their fellows, because of the rich gift of notable 
lives they bring to the world. And no greater gift came 
to the world in the nineteenth century than that on a bleak 
February day in 1809, in a Kentucky cabin, Abraham 
Lincoln opened his dark, mystic eyes to a life that was 
to be for him one of sorrow and travail but which was 
to bring happiness and hope to countless thousands and 
prove an inspiration to mankind so long as the scroll is 
kept of the great and good. 

Some of his year mates are worthy of mention. Even, 
as from a Kentucky cabin in that year, came the lion- 
hearted Lincoln, from a country vicarage in the west 
of England came the sweet song bird Tennyson; and 
from another English home William Evarts Gladstone, 
a champion also of human liberties. Poland saw the 
birth of Chopin, the madman of music; the older Ger- 
many gave Mendelssohn to translate the music of he 
spheres for the ear of man, and America saw arise in the 
heavens of literature the poetic soul of Edgar AUan 
Poe. Others among the children contemporaries of Lin- 
coln were Oliver Wendell Holmes, the brilliant New 
England scholar and poet, and a feminine star, noted for 
the frail beauty of its poesy — a star that will light the 
way for achieving womanhood until the end of time — 
the star of Elizabeth Barrett (Elizabeth Barrett Brown- 
ing), who voiced the soul of woman in undying song. 

Tradition saith that so shiftless was Thomas Lincoln, 
the father of Lincoln, that the log cabin had only three 

44 



Half-Forgollcn Romances of American History 45 

sides and the fourth was open to all kinds of weather. It 
is very likely that the family was in the class, in a sense, 
of what is known in the South as "poor whites," poor 
not only as to worldly means but in the sense of character 
as well. But back of Thomas Lincoln were men of 
red blood and achievement; pioneers, men who had 
dared to stand forth in the perilous days of the Revolu- 
tion and defy England's mighty king. The sturdy line 
might have run to seed somewhat under the devastating 
influence of Thomas Lincoln's laziness and general good 
for nothingness, but behind him were staunch souls 
such as Abraham Lincoln, his grandfather, the first 
settler in Kentucky, who came to that new frontier of 
civilization in 1780 and was killed by the Indians in 1784. 

And back of the first Abraham Lincoln the racial line 
went to Puritan New England where Samuel Lincoln, 
the President's first American ancestor and son of Ed- 
ward Lincoln, gent, of Hingham, Norfolk, England, had 
come to carve out his destiny in the new land beyond 
the seas. This was in 1637, and Sam Lincoln was appren- 
tice to a weaver and settled with two older brothers 
in Hingham, Mass. His son and grandson were iron 
founders, a progression as the world counted it then from 
the state of apprentice weaver. The grandson Mor- 
decai moved to Chester County, Pa., and from there his 
son John migrated to Augusta County (now Rocking- 
ham County), Va., and was the President's great-grand- 
father. 

Such were the short and simple annals of his paternal 
American ancestors. They were not "great folk," as the 
term is usually understood; nay, they were of the plain 
people, those selfsame "plain people" Abraham Lincoln 
so greatly loved because there were so many of them. 
They sat not in the seats of the mighty, and very prob- 
ably in Samuel Lincoln's wildest dreams after he set 
foot in the new land, adventurer and soldier of fortune 
though he was, never came a vision that a descendant 
of his should ever become the ruler of the country that 
was to be formed from the struggling little colonies of 
his day. 

On Lincoln's mother's side of the house the story is 
even of a more humble and, in some respects, a darker 
design. Nancy Hanks, the mother, was a native of Vir- 
ginia, but repute had it that she was the illegitimate 
daughter of one Lucy Hanks. Yet, despite the shadow 
of the bar sinister that clung to her name, she was con- 
siderably above Thomas Lincoln in social qualities and 



46 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

station. Much of the mystery of Lincoln's life is revealed 
by this fact, because, as a rule, although there have been 
brilliant exceptions, most great men have great mothers. 
In fact, it seems as if it did not matter so very much 
what the fathers were so the mothers were consecrated 
to the task of making boys quit themselves like men. 

Nancy Hanks saw beyond the boundaries of that hill- 
side farm "Rock Spring" in Kentucky. She knew the 
great world of achievement lay over the hills and far 
away, and she knew, too, that knowledge was the key that 
would unlock all doors for her beloved son. Out of her 
drab life with its sordid details, its soul-destroying poverty 
and the struggle for existence with the shiftless "Tom 
Lincoln," her soul leaped with desire and ambition for 
the lad who played at her feet. There are many mothers 
like this in the world. There were more, perhaps, in the 
old days before the lure of bridge and matinee called 
mothers so much from their natural cares. Rock Spring 
farm might bound the world for Tom Lincoln; it should 
be but the beginning of things for little Abe. 

What the world owes to Nancy Hanks and her dreams 
for her son can never be paid to her. But wherever a 
man or woman in the name and memory of Nancy Hanks 
and her son Abraham helps a lad on his way to educa- 
tion and fortune, that man or woman is blessed beyond 
compare. For the fruits may be greater than could pos- 
sibly be foretold. Investment in human lives can be 
profitable as well as useless, at times, when the ones 
invested in prove unworthy of the trust. While I was 
not consulted in the matter in any way, shape or form, 
and while I acknowledged the superb beauty of the 
Lincoln Memorial, with its majestic simplicity, so char- 
acteristic of the man it commemorates and stateliness of 
design, yet to my mind the most fitting memorial to 
Lincoln that could have been erected would have been 
the living memorial of a great school in the capital of 
the country, dedicated to the education of the j^outh of 
America in the ideals for which Lincoln stood. 

The Lincolns had removed from Elizabethtown, Hardin 
County, Ky., to the Rock Spring farm shortly before the 
birth of Abraham. When little Abe was 4 years old 
they moved again, this time to a farm of 238 acres on 
Knob creek, about six miles from Hodgenville, Ky. But 
the restless spirit of Tom Lincoln was never satisfied in 
any one spot long. In 1816 they moved again, this 
time over the Ohio River, and settled on a quarter sec- 
tion near the present village of Gentryville, Spencer 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 47 

County, Ind. They were miserably poor. Tired and 
worn out by the long fight against poverty, Nancy Hanks 
died on October 5, 1818. The boy, then seven years 
old, mourned her bitterly, and so did Tom Lincoln, for a 
time. But he found a measure of consolation in a renewal 
of ties with an old sweetheart, Mrs. Sarah Bush John- 
ston, whom he had courted years before, and married 
her in December, 1819. Her thrift greatly improved 
matters in the crude home, and she exerted a great influ- 
ence over her stepson. Like his mother, she saw the 
coming glory of the lad and urged him to study and 
intellectual endeavor. 

Spencer County was still a wilderness, and the boy 
grew up in pioneer surroundings, living in a rude log 
cabin, enduring many hardships and knowing only the 
primitive manners, conversations and ambitions of 
sparsely settled backwoods communities. Schools were 
rare and teachers qualified to teach only the merest rudi- 
ments of learning. For some time, the only books Abe 
possessed, either by direct ownership or by borrowing 
them from neighbors, were the Bible, a life of Wash- 
ington and one of Henry Clay. His entire schooling, in 
five different schools, amounted to less than twelve 
months, but he became a good speller and an excellent 
penman. His own mother had taught him to read. In 
early boyhood he read and reread the Bible, Aesop, 
Robinson Crusoe, Pilgrim's Progress and a history of 
the United States. Burns and Shakespeare later became 
his favorite poets, and from them and the Bible he gathered 
that vast understanding of human nature which was one 
of his most enduring qualities of character. 

Abe wrote rude, coarse satires, crude verse and com- 
positions on the American government, temperance, etc. 
At the age of 17 he had attained the extraordinary height 
of 6 feet 4 inches, specially remarkable because of the 
length of his legs from the knees down which gave him 
his towering inches over other men. He was athletic 
n tendency and participated in all the wrestling matches, 
races, and lifting heavyweight bouts in the neighborhood 
and had gained a reputation as well of being a two-fisted 
fighter. 

When 19 he made a journey to New Orleans on a 
flatboat as a hired hand. 

Then came another removal on the part of the nomad 
father, this time to New Salem, 111., where the youthful 
Lincoln became a clerk in the local store, studied law 
and soon won his way in his chosen profession to a degree 



48 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

that he was chosen to represent the district in the state 
legislature. 

His love-story opened in the sweet spring days of 1835, 
when the young legislator was returning from Vandalia, 
111., then the capital of the state. He rode on horseback 
from Springfield the last 20 miles of the journey. It 
was April, and the lanes and roads over which he traveled 
were lined with blossoming fruit trees. Spring was in 
the air, and it only lacked the woman to make the scene 
ideal for twenty and three. 

We can picture the appearance he made, this man 
who was afterward to guide the destinies of America. 
Undoubtedly, he wore a suit of blue jeans, the trousers 
stuffed into the tops of cowhide boots; a hat of rabbit 
fur felt, with so long a nap that its fringe at times mingled 
in with his heavy black hair. Beneath the uncouth 
hat and the equally unruly hair was a broad, high fore- 
head, luminous gray eyes of keen intelligence which 
the love of his fellowman had softened to gentleness 
and in which now and then flashed gleams of humor; 
a full, wide mouth with innate sweetness lingering around 
its corners. In the saddle bags was the remainder of 
his wardrobe, a most meager one even for those times, 
and his library of law books, and in his capacious pocket 
$100 of his pay as legislator which he was carrying home 
to satisfy debtors. Thus he rode on to meet love, a love 
that had lingered in his heart for four long years since 
that April morning when Ann Rutledge had come down 
to cheer him as he was taking the flatboat to New Orleans 
safely over the New Salem dam. 

Clad in her simple homespun with a blue sunbonnet, 
she had made a picture to linger in any man's memory. 
Her crown of hair was so pale a gold as to be almost 
flaxen. Her eyes a dark, violet blue with brown lashes, 
were tender in glance and her pink coloring showed the 
healthy out-of-door life she had led. 

That night Abe Lincoln, the hero of the dam-shooting 
episode, had been feasted and toasted in the eight-room 
tavern of logs owned by James Rutledge, the father of 
Ann, whose glance across the waters had given him the 
power to perform the feat that men should talk of for 
years to come. 

Ann waited on table at the homely meal, listened to 
Abe telling some of the stories that men remembered for 
long years afterward, and his kindly smile was very 
pleasing to her. She did not fall in love with him then. 
He was just an incident in her life, for she was betrothed 



Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 49 

to another, one John McNeil, proprietor of the best store 
in the town and of rich farming lands. Ann Rutledge 
had good blood in her veins. She was descended from a 
family of South Carolina planters that boasted a signer 
of the Declaration, of Chief Justice of the Supreme 
Court under President Washington and a leader in an 
early Congress. 

After Abe Lincoln returned from his trip to New 
Orleans he often met Ann Rutledge in the "spell downs" 
and simple entertainments of the farmer folk of the 
region. Lincoln was now boarding at the Rutledge tavern. 
He had risen rapidly in the public esteem and was fast 
friends with Ann, who was preparing for her wedding to 
McNeil. They studied grammar together out of a rare 
volume that Lincoln had borrowed. Ann made a pretty 
picture in the firelight and the candle light that sufficed 
for reading. In the evening she wore the natural cream 
white of flax and w^ool, wide cape, like collars of home- 
made lace, pinned with a cameo or painted brooch, and 
a high comb of tortoise shell behind the shining coil of 
her hair. 

Is there any wonder that Lincoln soon found he had 
lost his heart to her? But he could not tell her of his 
love, for she was the promised wife of another. On the 
fly leaf of the grammar he wrote, "Ann Rutledge is now 
learning grammar." John McNeil did not fear Lincoln's 
friendship for his bride-to-be. He knew Abe was hon- 
orable, and he knew Ann's heart was all his and that she 
looked upon Abe as mentor and friend only. 

But clouds grew across the sky of this idyllic existence. 
John McNeil suddenly sold his farms and other holdings 
in the spring of 1834 and left for his old home, indefinitely, 
"back East." The excuse he gave was that he wanted 
to bring his old father and mother out West to care for 
them. When he returned Ann and he were to be married. 

The months slipped by after his departure. No letters 
came from him. Word was whispered around the neigh- 
borhood that Ann had been deserted. Lincoln heard the 
talk, and it hurt him greatly but not so much as the 
despair he saw growing in Ann's sweet eyes as the long 
days passed with no word from her absent lover. 

Lincoln was the village postmaster, and he handled 
Ann's frequent letters to McNeil. Ann called daily to 
ask for a letter, but the kindly postmaster could only 
shake his head silently as she made her daily fruitless 
inquiry. 

But, one day in midsummer, as Lincoln looked over 



50 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

the mail there was a letter for Ann. He leaped on a 
horse and rode out to the Rutledge farm to give it to 
her. The happy color came into her cheeks as she saw 
itwas from McNeil. Alone, she sped to the river bank. 
Lincoln looked after her as she went, knowing that the 
letter meant the death knell of the hopes he would not 
even acknowledge to himself. But fate had a dreadful 
blow in store for Ann Rutledge. McNeil wrote that he 
had deceived her, that his right name was McNamar, and 
he hinted vaguely at reasons why he could not return 
to her. She wrote pleading letters to him, and two more 
came in answer and then no more. 

Soon it was noised around that Ann Rutledge had been 
deserted. Her father broke in health under the blight, 
and the chivalric Lincoln threw himself into the breach. 
A new element was added to the absorbing drama when 
Lincoln began to pay open court to Ann, publishing far 
and wide that he would be proud to win what McNamar 
had not cared to keep. 

At first Ann was impervious to her new lover's atten- 
tions. She was too bruised and too hurt. Little by little 
Lincoln drew her from her sad thoughts, then they began 
to study again, and when he was elected to the legislature 
in August Ann saw that this was a man, indeed, and her 
fancy turned to him. 

In December Lincoln rode away for his winter of law- 
making at Vandalia. Now letters came with faithful 
regularity for Ann. They drew pictures of an ambitious 
future, they told eloquently of affairs at the state capial, 
and it is small wonder that Ann enjoyed them and answered 
in pathetic Httle epistles. So, on the spring day in 1835, 
as Lincoln rode homeward his mind dwelt on her with 
a tenderness no longer forbidden, no longer hopeless of 
its reward. 

They spent a happy summer together, reading Shakes- 
peare and Burns. He pictured to her a life together that 
would have no dark shadows of an unforgotten love. 
They could not be married until he was admitted to the 
bar, so she took up her old plan of going to the Jack- 
sonville academy, so she might be trained to occupy her 
proper place by his side. Yet across Ann's new happi- 
ness crept a shadow. Suppose McNamar should come 
back and she found she still loved him? The doubt, 
the hope and fear of him made her fade visibly before 
her fond lover's eyes. He was at a loss to understand it. 

The thought tortured her, maddened her so that she 
slipped into the delirium of brain fever, and when Lincoln 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 51 

returned from a business trip in the county he found 
her in its throes. 

She was only conscious again for an hour, which Lin- 
coln spent with her. What passed between them in that 
hour of parting no one else ever knew. But the look 
of sorrow that was in his eyes until his death came there 
in that hour, and he stumbled out of that death chamber 
like a soul gone blind and groping. Two days later, 
Ann Rutledge died. 

It was months before Lincoln could rally from the 
blow and the shock. He spent hours at her grave, his 
mind was darkened for a time, and he passed days in a 
brooding melancholy that his friends feared would end 
in a suicidal mania. 

When the winter came, one night amid the blasts of a 
tempestuous storm he arose, went to the door and looked 
out into the wild night. Suddenly he cried out in utter 
desolation : 

"I cannot bear to think of her out there alone, in the 
cold and darkness and storm." The tears came, the ice 
of his frozen heart was unlocked at last and his reason 
saved. Frequently he said, "My heart is buried in the 
grave with that dear girl." 

In 1909, Lincoln's centennial year, a slender shaft of 
Carrara marble was placed over Ann Rutledge 's grave 
in Oakland cemetery, Petersburg, 111. 

"Flow gently, sweet Sangamon, disturb not her dream." 

But even such grief as Lincoln experienced at the death 
of Ann Rutledge comes in time to be assuaged. Youth 
will be served and we are but mortal, even the Lincolns 
among us, and within a few years Lincoln found another 
romance budding in his heart. 

It was for vivacious Mary Todd, a Kentucky girl of 
good family and social standing both in Illinois and 
Kentucky. Ann Rutledge became only a sweet memory. 
And Mary Todd and Abraham Lincoln were married in 
1842. Four sons were bom to the Lincolns, of whom 
the only one to grow up was the eldest, Robert Todd 
Lincoln, who now resides on U Street in Georgetown. 



CHAPTER 6 
Robert Edward Lee and Mary Parke Custis 

THE death recently of Col. Robert E, Lee, only surviv- 
ing grandson of Gen. Robert E. Lee, the great Southern 
leader, recalls the idyll of Arlington, one of the most 
memorable romances in American history. 

Like his great contemporary and generous enemy. Gen- 
eral Grant, Lee was not only brave but gallant at heart. 
As a poet once so strikingly said : 

"The bravest are the tenderest. 
The loving are the daring." 

To be truly loved by any man is the enduring crown 
of womanhood, but to be the darling of a hero and world 
leader is a lot that falls to comparatively few women. 

The thousands of Americans and foreigners who yearly 
with reverent tread and bared heads visit the sacred aisles 
of Arlington, where sleep the nation's dead, know all too 
little of the history connected with that consecrated 
ground and nothing of the romance that clusters about 
its dells and graceful century-old trees. 

Nor do many know that a quaint home on Washington 
street in venerable Alexandria was the boyhood home of 
Robert E, Lee and the scene of the beginnings of his 
romantic love story. 

The colonial pillars are shelter for the climbing honey- 
suckle and white roses that are descended from the 
flowers that poured their fragrance forth for the dark- 
eyed little boy — later to be the world-renowned leader of 
a "lost cause" — who then called that hallowed spot 
"home." 

Robert E. Lee still lives in history and the hearts of 
the American people, although his mortal remains rest 
under the benediction of adoring youth in the quiet 
chapel of Lexington. Mary Parke Custis Lee, the belle 
of Arlington — his first sweetheart and his last, too — has 
gone the way of all flesh. The banner he loved and for 
which he fought is furled, albeit its veteran soldiers kiss 
its tattered folds as they march by in feeble ranks to death. 

The picture is set; the actors are about to pass over 
the silver screen of memory. Here's a toast to the gallant 
son of "Light Horse Harry" Lee and his fair lady. 

The first scene in the romance is a prologue, as it were. 

52 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 53 

To understand the character of Lee, or of any man, for 
that matter, one must have some conception of his an- 
cestors, of his family traditions and the inheritance of 
intellect, talent, culture and virtue that should rightfully 
be his. 

When Charles I was seated on his unsteady throne 
that was to prove a short step to the scaffold, a certain 
Col. Richard Lee — a Shropshire Lee, of Moreton Regis — 
was one of his good gentlemen and soldiers. When age 
crept upon him Colonel Lee secured from his complaisant 
monarch a patent to vast acres of land in the virgin 
country beyond the seas. 

Bidding farewell to his native land. Colonel Lee, with 
staunch heart, set forth on his new venture. His land 
was situated in what is now Westmoreland County, Va. 
It was unbroken wilderness in that year of grace, and the 
red peril lingered ever at the door of the white settler, 
were he king's man or pioneer. The colonel cleared river 
land on the banks of the Potomac and built himself a 
spacious, colonial mansion which he named "Stratford," 
in grateful memory of a family home in the old country. 

To the last hour of his life Colonel Lee was a Stuart ad- 
herent. In his will he completely ignored the protectorate 
in dating it as follows: 

"The 6th of February, in the sixteenth year of the reign 
of our sovereign lord, Charles II, King of Great Britain." 
At that time the second Charles had been on the throne 
but three short years. 

With Governor Berkeley he assisted in keeping the col- 
ony loyal to the crown. The second son of the doughty 
old colonel and Jacobite Richard had five sons. It is from 
Richard Lee that the family of Robert Edward was 
descended. 

Dashing "Light Horse Harry" Lee, one of the popular 
heroes of the Revolution, was a law student at Princeton 
when the storm of war broke over his beloved country. 
Down went his Blackstone, and the 19-year-old lad 
buckled on old Colonel Lee's sword and answered "Here 
am I" to the bugle that shrilled high, calling those early 
sons of America to arms. 

Before many months Henry Lee, the law student, was 
"Light Horse Harry" Lee, the cavalry captain. Boys 
became men overnight in those fate-filled days, and be- 
fore Lee was 25 years old his gallantry and mihtary 
sagacity were rewarded. 

General Washington was devoted to "Light Horse 
Harry" Lee. He admired his dauntless courage, and 



54 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

there is a legend that his feelings for the dashing young 
cavalryman was the more enhanced because Washington 
had once entertained tender sentiment for the beautiful 
Lucy Grymes, afterward Lee's mother. 

The Revolution won, "Light Horse Harry" Lee retired 
to Stratford and the quiet of a Virginia country gentle- 
man. After the death of his first wife, Matilda, and his 
two infant sons, "Light Horse Harry" Lee was grief- 
stricken for a number of years. Then he met Annie Hill 
Carter, daughter of Shirley Carter, a belle of the day. 
New romance budded in his heart. They were married 
and happiness again reigned at Stratford, especially when 
a succession of four sturdy sons and two buxom daughters 
made the roof tree of the old mansion fairly ring with child- 
ish laughter. There was born on January 19, 1807, Robert 
Edward Lee, the third son. Little Robert was rather delicate 
when a lad, although he grew more robust in after years 
and quite an athlete. The chivalric nature of the boy was 
stimiilated by the environs of this stately Virginia home. 
Aj-ound him were old portraits, old plate and old furni- 
ture, telling plainly of the ancient origin and high posi- 
tion of his family. In the quaint mahogany secretary 
were parchment family trees, histories and time-mellowed 
land deeds. Gray old servants lulled him to sleep with 
stirring recitals of his people. All was calculated to im- 
press on his mind the lofty doctrine of "noblesse oblige," 
an obligation to which Robert Edward Lee remained true 
all his days. 

He never forgot Stratford, and often in later years de- 
scribed in glowing terms the beautiful old mansion, built 
in the form of the letter "H". Some idea of its massive 
proportions can be gained from the fact that its walls 
were several feet in thickness. In its center was a large 
salon. Surmounting each wing was a pavilion with bal- 
ustrades, above which rose clusters of chimneys. The 
front door was reached by a broad flight of steps; the 
grounds handsome and alive with bright foHage of oaks, 
cedars and maple trees and the ghostly Lombardy 
poplar. 

The best testimony of Robert's boyhood was given by 
his father, who wrote, "Robert was always good." This 
witness is further attested by the fact that when he went 
to West Point he never received a demerit. And, as every 
army officer will testify, to receive demerits at West Point 
is one of the easiest things in the world to accomplish. 

When Robert was 4 years old a change came in the for- 
tunes of his family. A stately house was left to "Light 



Half-Forgotten Rom-anccs of American History 55 

Horse Harry" Lee in Alexandria, the big town of the 
Potomac waterside. Because of the better faciHties for 
education of his children, "Light Horse Harry" Lee left 
beautiful Stratford and went to live in Alexandria. 

It was not long after their removal to the quaint little 
town that 6-year-old Robert Lee first met Mary Parke 
Custis, then a toddling 4-year-old, who was afterward to 
be his wife. 

One day after the Lees had become settled in their new 
home a stately coach and four from Arlington Manor 
House drove up the long driveway. Within were Mis- 
tress George Washington Parke Custis, wife of the adopted 
son of General Washington, and tiny baby Mary. While 
the ladies exchanged the courtesies of the season little 
Robert and even smaller Mary sat demurely on the 
veranda steps, also getting acquainted. 

Suddenly a scream arose from the veranda. "Bad 
boy!" shrieked Mary, stamping her tiny foot. Both 
mothers rushed out. The boy was sitting quietly, watch- 
ing the child's temper. 

"Whatever is the matter, dear?" said Mrs. Custis. 

"Bad boy teased me," replied the angry child. 

Mrs. Lee turned to Robert. "I stopped her pulling the 
cat's tail," said the lad quietly. "It hurt Pussy." 

The ladies laughed, and little Mary was finally per- 
suaded to smile again by a visit to Robert's pet pony. 

It might be well to digress just here, inasmuch as the 
party of the second part of this romance has now been 
introduced to the gentle public. 

It will be remembered when George Washington 
courted and won the dashing widow Custis and bore off 
in triumph his bride to Mount Vernon that the buxom 
Mistress Custis possessed two young children, Martha 
and John Parke Custis. These step-children were the 
apple of General Washington's eye, and he personally 
superintended their education, lavishing on them all the 
love that he would have given to children of his own. 
Young John Parke Custis acquitted himself with credit, 
was a member of the Virginia legislature and on Washing- 
ton's staff during the revolutionary war. He married and 
had four young children. All was going well with the 
little family when the young father was stricken ill and 
sent home by General Washington to Mount Vernon to be 
nursed back to health. The day of the surrender of York- 
town dawned, the British humbled their proud flag in the 
dust, Washington was surrounded by his victorious gen- 
erals, their idol, when through the ranks broke a courier. 



56 Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 

He bore a message that John Parke Custis had died on 
that day of victory. Poor Martha Washington! Her .only 
daughter had died several years before, and the doubly 
bereaved mother now awaited the homecoming of her 
husband. Putting aside all thoughts of rejoicing, Wash- 
ington giving the fruits of victory into the hands of his 
generals, set out that night to gallop by night and day 
over the rough country roads until he could reach the side 
of his sorrowing wife. 

As a consolation to Mrs. Washington in her bereave- 
ment, he adopted the two youngest children of the de- 
ceased, a boy, George Washington Parke Custis, and a 
girl, who thenceforth formed a part of his immediate 
family. 

Sunshine came again into Mount Vernon with these 
innocent children. When little George Washington 
Parke Custis grew to manhood he inherited the magnifi- 
cent estate of Arlington Manor, also on the Potomac, a 
few miles above Mount Vernon. He married, and his 
little daughter Mary is the child who was the boyhood 
and manhood sweetheart of Robert Edward Lee. 

To return to the children seated on the Lees' front 
veranda. That was their first meeting, but not their last. 
They grew up side by side, sharing their games and 
sports and children's parties together. Always it was 
Mary Custis who chose "Bob Lee" in "postoffice" and 
other kissing games. The parents of both smiled indul- 
gently. After all, an alliance between these historic 
houses would be most proper and fitting and it would 
join in addition two great estates. 

A great grief befell Robert E. Lee when he was but 
7 years old. His gallant father, "Light Horse Harry" 
Lee, the Revolutionary hero and patriot, became a help- 
less invalid. He was sent to the West Indies to recup- 
erate. There he lived for five years separated from his 
loving family. In 1818 he found, to put it in his own 
words," that he was approaching the Valley of the Shad- 
ow," and his one desire was to end his days at home. 
So he set sail in a little coasting vessel, but the pitching 
and tossing of the ship so aggravated his malady that 
he was obliged to make port at Cumberland Island, off 
the coast of Georgia. His former friend and commander, 
Gen. Nathaniel Green, had an estate there, and his mar- 
ried daughter, Mrs. James Shaw, was residing in its 
beautiful mansion. General Lee was taken off the boat in 
a dying condition. Every care and comfort and attention 
was bestowed upon him, but in vain. He was buried 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 57 

close to the grave of General Greene, and Robert E. Lee 
was a fatherless lad of eleven. 

Such griefs mature boys quickly, and young Robert 
felt that he must protect and care for his mother. His 
beautiful nature flowered into manly consideration for 
the stricken widow, and he honored his father by caring 
for his father's wife. Life, with all its problems, grew 
serious overnight, and he besought his mother to place 
him in the hands of a tutor so he might the more quickly 
prepare for his career at West Point and follow his father's 
profession of soldier. 

His mother yielded to his wishes and placed him under 
the tutelage of a Mr. Leary, a gentleman of scholarly 
attainments. His spiritual adviser who taught him the 
catechism was young WiUiam Meade, afterwards Bishop 
of Virginia, historian of the old Dominion. When Bishop 
Meade, years later, at the time of the Civil War, was about 
to die he sent for his former pupil and said: "God bless 
you, Robert — I cannot call you 'general' — I heard your 
catechism too often." 

Mr. Leary did his work well, and when Robert Lee 
reached 18 the longed-for appointment to West Point 
came. Robert was thrilled and his first act was to ride 
over to Arlington Manor house and tell Molly Custis the 
good news. That very night they became engaged, and 
young Robert went off to the academy determined to 
make his mark for the sake not only of his mother but 
the sweet faced Virginia girl who awaited his return. 

There has never been a better cadet, one more filled 
with the traditions of West Point and all for which they 
stand, than Robert Edward Lee. And there have been 
few men there who so won both the affection and respect 
of his fellow cadets, and of his superior officers as well, 
because he never earned a single demerit, as said before, 
and was graduated second in his class. The military 
science was his absorbing study, and much of the genius 
he afterwards displayed as the gallant chieftain of a lost 
cause was developed at West Point. 

On graduation Lee was made a second lieutenant of 
engineers and sent to assist in completing the extensive 
fortifications planned at Hampton Roads for the defense 
of the Chesapeake in case of attack. It was the very 
irony of fate that this knowledge was afterward used by 
Lee to good effect in the war between the states. 

Mary Custis waited patiently at home. The time was 
drawing near when they were to be married and the hope 
chest was filled almost to overflowing. The great day 



58 Half -Forgotten Romances of American History 

came, June 30, 1831, when Lieut. Robert E. Lee was to 
wed the sweetheart of his boyhood and his young man- 
hood, Mary Parke Custis. A nephew of General Lee, 
Fitzhugh Lee, has described the marriage scene at Arling- 
ton. He writes: 

"Old ArHngton was in all her glory that night. The 
stately mansion never held a happier assemblage. Its 
broad portico and widespread wings held out open arms, 
as it were, to welcome the coming guests. Its simple 
Doric columns graced domestic comfort with a classic air. 
Its halls and chambers were adorned with portraits of the 
patriots and heroes and with illustrations and relics of the 
great revolution and of the 'Father of His Country,' 
and, without and within, history and tradition seemed to 
breathe their legends upon a canvas as soft as a dream of 
peace." 

The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Mr. Keith, 
and it is not hard to imagine the picture of the beautiful 
young bride and the handsome, stalwart young officer of 
the engineers standing there as they plighted their troth. 

After a short honeymoon Lee returned to his work on 
the harbor defenses. Later came a Washington appoint- 
ment,, and he rose steadily in his profession, giving good 
service in the Indian skirmishes and in the Mexican War 
as well. 

During the Mexican War Lee wrote steadily to his 
wife and the two little sons who had come to make his 
home the happier. It was their first separation at Christ- 
mas. He writes: "We have had many Christm^ases to- 
gether. It is the first time we have been entirely sep- 
arated at this holy time since our marriage. I hope it 
does not interfere with your happiness, surrounded as 
you are by father, mother, children and dear friends. I 
therefore trust you are happy and that this is the last 
time I shall be absent from you during my life. May 
God bless you till then and forever after is my constant 
prayer." 

The children born to Robert E. Lee and his wife were: 
George Washington Custis Lee, W. H. F. Lee and Robert 
E. Lee, Jr., and four daughters, one of whom, Miss Mary 
Custis Lee, lived until a few years ago. 

Of Lee in the civil war and in the trying days of recon- 
struction history has written so fully that more here 
would be merely superfluous. The gentle Mary Custis 
was now a confirmed invalid, and he watched over her 
with the care of a mother. Their romance survived de- 
feat, disillusionm^ent, and together they drank the bitter 



Half-Forgotten Romances of American History 59 

cup of disappointment and found it sweet because they 
were together. 

But October 14, 1870, was to see their mortal parting, 
for on that day, when the whole South stood with bared 
heads, Robert E. Lee passed on at the behest of the 
great Commander-in-Chief of Humanity to whose dic- 
tates there is no manner of gainsaying. Mrs. Lee did 
not long survive him, faithful and true to the last to this 
Chevaher Bayard of a Lost Cause. 



